“Claire.”
I knew the name.
Claire Donovan worked in Mark’s office.
Months earlier, I had seen one of her messages flash across his phone during dinner: I miss you already.
Mark had laughed and told me it was an office joke sent to the wrong person.
I had wanted to believe him.
“How long?” I asked.
He did not answer.
That was an answer.
I backed away from the bed, holding my phone against my chest.
Mark stood.
“Sarah, listen to me.
Claire gave Ava part of a protein cookie.
She didn’t know it had peanuts.
Ava looked fine when I took her inside.
I thought the daycare would watch her.
I thought—”
“You thought hiding your affair mattered more than helping her.”
“No.”
“She told you to call an ambulance.”
“I panicked.”
“Ava asked you for help.”
His face twisted.
“Stop saying it like that.”
I had never hated anyone before that night.
I had believed hatred would feel hot and violent.
It did not.
It felt cold.
Precise.
Almost quiet.
I moved toward the bedroom door.
Mark stepped in front of me.
“Give me the phone.”
“Move.”
“That video doesn’t show everything.
Miss Greenwood has been looking for someone to blame because the daycare failed her.”
“Move.”
He reached for the phone.
I turned away, slipped into the bathroom, and locked the door.
His palm hit the wood a second later.
“Sarah, open this door.”
I forwarded both files to my work email, my sister, and a new cloud folder.
Then I called Miss Greenwood.
She answered on the first ring.
“Did you watch it?”
I could barely speak.
“Did you send it anywhere else?”
“To the daycare director and the police.
The director told me not to contact you until their attorney reviewed it.
I couldn’t wait.
I kept thinking about Ava’s backpack.
Her medication wasn’t there when she collapsed.
We thought someone had forgotten to pack it.”
Mark struck the door again.
“Sarah!”
Miss Greenwood heard him.
