Chapter 3

Dr. Cross asked me to meet him at a coffee shop three blocks from the hospital. When I arrived, he was already there—mid-forties, tired eyes, a manila folder on the table.

"Before I say anything," he began, "I need you to understand that I'm violating patient confidentiality. If Dominic Hale finds out I contacted you, I'll lose my license."

"Then why are you here?"

He opened the folder. Inside were lab results, charts, medical imaging. "Rosie has been admitted to the hospital four times in the past six months. Respiratory distress, unexplained allergic reactions, failure to thrive. Her weight is in the third percentile."

My hands went cold. "What's causing it?"

"That's the problem. I can't find a definitive cause. But every time she's hospitalized, she improves rapidly. And every time she goes home with Mrs. Hale, she deteriorates again."

The implication hung in the air like smoke.

"You think Vivienne is making her sick," I said.

"I think something in that household is making her sick. I've run every standard panel. The only thing I haven't been able to do is a full genetic compatibility workup, because Mrs. Hale has repeatedly refused to provide her own samples for comparison."

"Why would she refuse?"

"She claims religious objections. Mr. Hale doesn't question it."

I stared at the charts. My daughter was wasting away, and no one was doing anything about it.

"Dr. Cross, what do you need from me?"

"Your medical history. Your genetic profile. If there's a hereditary component to what's happening to Rosie, your DNA could help me identify it. And if the cause is... external..." He trailed off, unable to say it.

"You need proof that someone is hurting her."

He nodded, his face ashen.

I gave him everything—blood samples, medical records, family history going back three generations. He left with the folder, and I sat in that coffee shop for another hour, unable to move.

My daughter was being poisoned. I was certain of it now. And the man who was supposed to protect her was too blind to see it.

That night, I did something reckless. I went to the Hale Estate.

The security fence was twelve feet high, topped with cameras. But I'd spent a month catering events there. I knew the service entrance code hadn't been changed since last quarter—the head of catering had complained about it.

I punched in the numbers. The gate clicked open.

The nursery was on the second floor, east wing. I climbed the trellis outside the kitchen, slipped through a window left cracked for ventilation, and made my way down the hall.

Rosie was asleep in her crib. She was so small. Too small for a child her age. Her breathing was shallow, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

I reached down and touched her cheek. She stirred, opened her eyes, and looked up at me. She didn't cry. She just reached for my hand and held on.

"I'm here, baby," I whispered. "Mama's going to fix this."

That's when I noticed the bottle on the nightstand. It was labeled as a vitamin supplement, prescribed by a doctor I'd never heard of. I photographed the label and pocketed one of the capsules.

A floorboard creaked behind me.

I spun around. Vivienne was standing in the doorway, wearing a silk robe, her expression a mixture of rage and something I couldn't identify—fear, maybe.

"How did you get in here?" she hissed.

"What are you giving my daughter?"

Her eyes darted to the nightstand. She saw the missing capsule and her face went white. "That's a prescription vitamin. How dare you—"

"Then you won't mind if I have it tested."

She lunged at me. I dodged, but she grabbed my hair and yanked me backward. We crashed into the dresser. Rosie started screaming.

Footsteps thundered down the hall. Dominic burst through the door, took one look at the scene, and grabbed me by the throat, slamming me against the wall.

"I warned you," he said, his voice deadly quiet. "I told you what would happen."

"She's poisoning Rosie!" I gasped. "The supplements—check the supplements!"

"She broke in!" Vivienne sobbed, clutching her robe. "She was trying to take the baby! Dominic, she's insane!"

His hand tightened. Black spots danced across my vision.

"Dominic," I choked out. "Your daughter is dying. Look at her. Really look at her."

For one fraction of a second, his eyes flickered to the crib. Rosie was sobbing, reaching for me with both hands.

"Mama," she cried. "Mama, mama, mama."

Something cracked in his expression. But then Vivienne pressed herself against his back, weeping into his shoulder, and the crack sealed shut.

"Call the police," he said.

As they dragged me out in handcuffs, I saw Vivienne pick up the remaining capsules from the nightstand and slip them into her robe pocket.

She looked at me and smiled.