Margaret recovered first. Evil usually does.
She stood tall, chin lifted defiantly. “You can’t prove intent. Babies die. Mothers fail. Everyone knows she was careless.”
Maya looked toward me. “Claire, the chapel footage?”
I connected my phone to the television.
Margaret’s voice filled the living room.
“God took them because He knew what kind of mother you were.”
Then came the slap.
The impact.
Then the threat.
“Stay quiet, or you’ll join them.”
Nobody moved.
For the first time since I met her, Margaret looked small.
Daniel lunged toward the remote. One detective grabbed him instantly and twisted his arm behind his back.
“You set me up!” Daniel shouted.
I stared at the man I once loved.
“No,” I said quietly. “You buried our babies and thought I would bury the truth beside them.”
Margaret began crying then.
Real tears this time.
Not for Noah.
Not for Lily.
For herself.
“Claire,” she begged desperately. “We’re family.”
I walked toward the mantel and picked up the twins’ hospital photograph. Noah’s tiny fist rested beneath his chin. Lily’s mouth was open mid-yawn.
“You stopped being family the moment you decided my children were worth more dead than alive.”
The arrests weren’t dramatic.
