I wrote times, words and actions.
The doctor had already documented what she saw on Emma’s cheek and arms.
Brooke had already admitted grabbing Emma.
My mother had already left a handwritten note asking me to think about Brooke’s future instead of asking about Emma.
Now there was a recording showing that the “she fell” explanation had been discussed before three different relatives tried to hand it to me.
Facts did not need me to make them louder.
They only needed me to stop letting other people erase them.
The guest who sent the video called me later that afternoon.
She sounded nervous.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say something yesterday.”
“You sent it now.”
“I should’ve stopped Brooke.”
I looked through the kitchen doorway at Emma.
She was lining up her crayons by color.
“You didn’t know what was happening.”
The woman went quiet.
