“So you let her near our baby.”
He flinched.
I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t need to.
The officer finished photographing the pages and sealed the notebook inside an evidence bag.
My mother-in-law watched it disappear.
Her expression changed completely.
Not grief.
Not fear for her grandson.
Loss.
She had lost the records.
And she knew it.
“You don’t understand what that book contains,” she said.
I looked at her.
“Then explain it.”
She shook her head.
“Not here.”
The officer stepped closer.
“You’ll have an opportunity to explain it during questioning.”
She glared at him.
Then she looked at my husband.
“You promised me.”
He went pale.
“I was wrong.”
Her face tightened.
“You don’t get to decide that now.”
He looked at the evidence bag.
“I do.”
For the first time, he moved away from her instead of toward her.
I followed the paramedics outside.
