Traces of the same substance were found in the remaining mousse and along the inside of the cake box.
The amount was not accidental contamination.
Someone had placed it there.
Andrew stood and walked to the window.
Below us, headlights passed through the dark Manhattan streets.
For several minutes, he said nothing.
Then he turned toward me.
“Could the bakery have done it?”
“The bakery’s kitchen footage shows the cake being prepared, sealed, and placed in its box,” the detective replied.
“Your mother collected it intact at 4:22 yesterday afternoon.”
Andrew flinched at the words your mother.
“She would never hurt Carmen.”
I almost laughed, but there was nothing funny in me.
“You’ve heard the way she speaks to me.”
“She’s difficult.”
“She told me I was a stain on your family.”
“She says cruel things when she’s angry.”
“She wasn’t angry when she sent the cake.”
That silenced him.
Sophia had been calm enough to choose an expensive bakery, write a loving card, tie a red ribbon, and hire a courier.
Nothing about it had been impulsive.
The detectives left after asking me not to contact her.
Andrew remained near the window, his arms folded tightly across his chest.
I waited for him to apologize.
Instead, he asked, “Why did you send it to Lucy?”
The question reopened my guilt.
“Because it was her birthday.
Because your mother said it was for us, and I thought giving it to Lucy would keep anyone from accusing me of wasting it.”
“You wrote that Mom’s cake was delicious.”
“I was being polite.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I don’t know what to believe.”
“That is the problem, Andrew.
You have always known what your mother says to me.
You simply decided it was easier not to believe it mattered.”
He looked down.
For years, I had mistaken silence for patience.
I had told myself that enduring Sophia’s insults protected my marriage.
Standing in that apartment, I finally understood that my silence had protected Sophia instead.
The next morning, Lucy was awake.
The detectives interviewed her before allowing family members into the room.
When Andrew and I were finally admitted, Sophia was not there.
A police officer stood outside the door.
Lucy looked small against the white hospital sheets.
Her face was pale, and an IV line ran beneath a bandage on her hand.
When she saw me, her eyes filled with tears.
“I ate one slice,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know.”
It was the first kindness Lucy had offered me since my wedding day.
Andrew moved to her bedside.
“Did Mom call you?”
Lucy nodded.
“Before I got sick.
She kept asking whether I had eaten the cake.”
My skin went cold.
