Chapter 2 - The Ambulance Didn't Come Fast Enough
The paramedic looked at my daughter for three seconds before calling for additional medical support.
That was when I understood how close I had come to losing her.
"How old?" he asked.
"Two. She turned two today."
"Do you know what she was given?"
I looked toward my mother.
Elaine stood beneath the loading dock awning, clutching her purse against her expensive cream-colored jacket.
"Ask her," I said. "She knows."
The paramedic followed my gaze.
"Ma'am, we need the name of the medication."
Elaine shook her head.
"It was just something to help her sleep."
"What medication?"
"I don't remember."
"You gave a two-year-old medication and don't remember what it was?"
My father stepped forward.
"Listen, there's no need to make this into some criminal investigation."
A police officer who had arrived behind the ambulance stopped beside him.
"Actually, sir, that's exactly what this is."
For the first time that morning, Warren Holloway looked uncertain.
I barely noticed.
Maisie was lying on the stretcher, her tiny chest rising so slowly that I found myself counting every breath.
One.
Two.
Three.
The paramedic secured the straps and motioned for me to climb inside.
Lucas squeezed my shoulder.
"I'll follow you."
"Don't let them leave," I whispered.
His expression hardened.
"They won't get away with this."
The ambulance doors closed.
As we pulled away, I saw my mother speaking urgently to the officer. She was pointing toward the building, shaking her head, performing the same innocent confusion she had used throughout my childhood whenever someone challenged her.
I had watched her manipulate teachers, neighbors, employees, and relatives.
But I had never imagined she could stand beside a dumpster containing her own granddaughter and pretend nothing terrible had happened.
At the hospital, a pediatric emergency physician named Dr. Rebecca Sloan met us.
She listened to the paramedic's report while nurses connected Maisie to monitors.
I tried to explain everything.
The engagement party.
The missing blanket.
The empty crib.
My father's confession.
My sister's warning about the bottle.
The words came out in broken pieces.
Dr. Sloan placed one hand on my arm.
"We're treating this as a possible medication overdose. Our immediate priority is supporting her breathing and monitoring her heart."
"Is she going to die?"
The question escaped before I could stop it.
Dr. Sloan didn't offer a false promise.
"She's very sick. But she's here, and we're doing everything we can."
I stood beside the bed as a nurse gently lifted Maisie's arm.
Her little fingers hung loose.
I remembered those fingers grabbing my necklace the day before.
She had been sitting in her high chair, laughing because Lucas had put a paper napkin on his head.
She had called him "Loo."
He had pretended the napkin was a hat.
She had laughed until she hiccupped.
Now the same child couldn't open her eyes.
I bent over her.
"Baby, Mommy's here."
Nothing.
"Maisie, please."
The monitor continued its steady electronic rhythm.
An hour later, Lucas arrived with a detective.
Her name was Detective Nora Bennett.
She had dark hair pulled into a low ponytail and the exhausted eyes of someone who had spent years watching people hurt one another.
She introduced herself quietly.
"I know this is a terrible time, but there are some things we need to establish."
I nodded.
"Your sister told responding officers that your mother gave Maisie medication. She also identified the dumpster where the bottle was discarded."
"Did they find it?"
"Crime scene technicians are searching."
"And my parents?"
"They're being interviewed separately."
I stared at her.
"Interviewed? They put my baby in the garbage."
Her expression remained steady.
"We're gathering the evidence necessary to hold everyone responsible."
Lucas stood beside me.
"Tell her about the camera."
I turned.
"What camera?"
"The rear loading dock. Warren installed a new security system last month."
I remembered.
Dad had complained about employees stealing power tools.
"Did you get the footage?"
Lucas shook his head.
"Your father told the police the system wasn't working."
Something cold settled in my stomach.
"That's a lie."
Detective Bennett leaned forward.
"How do you know?"
"Because I checked the camera feed yesterday afternoon. A delivery driver backed into the fence, and Dad made me pull up the recording to get his license plate."
She wrote something down.
"Who controls the recordings?"
"My father. And Tessa has access through the store office."
The detective's phone vibrated.
She read the screen.
Her expression changed.
"Excuse me."
She stepped into the hallway.
Lucas took my hand.
"Whatever happens, we're staying right here."
I looked at the engagement ring on my finger.
Lucas had proposed six weeks earlier.
We were supposed to spend that morning celebrating our future.
Instead, we were praying for my daughter to survive the people who had raised me.
"Lucas?"
"Yeah?"
"If she doesn't make it—"
"Don't."
His voice broke.
He pressed his forehead against mine.
"We're not going there."
The door opened.
Detective Bennett returned.
"We recovered a medication bottle from the dumpster."
I stood.
"What was it?"
"A prescription sedative. The label has been partially damaged, but we have enough information to begin tracing it."
"Whose prescription?"
"We're still verifying that."
She hesitated.
"There's something else."
My stomach tightened.
"The hospital received a phone call from someone claiming to be Maisie's legal guardian. The caller requested that she be discharged into your mother's custody."
I stared at her.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because my mother isn't her guardian."
Detective Bennett looked at the paperwork in her hand.
"According to the document faxed to the hospital, Elaine Holloway was granted temporary guardianship of your daughter yesterday afternoon."
I shook my head.
"No."
The detective continued.
"The document bears your signature."
I felt the room tilt.
"I never signed anything."
Then Lucas said something that made my blood run cold.
"Yesterday afternoon, Elaine asked you to sign some engagement paperwork, didn't she?"
I remembered the folder.
The papers.
My mother's impatient voice.
It's just insurance information, sweetheart. Sign where I marked it.
And suddenly, I understood.
May you like
They hadn't simply decided to get rid of my daughter during the night.
They had started planning before the party even began.
