Mark’s eyes were open.
For one frozen second, neither of us moved.
The blue light from my phone crossed his face.
On the screen, the security video had paused on his hand inside Ava’s pink lunchbox.
The silver wrapper was visible between his fingers.
He looked at the phone, then at me.
“Sarah,” he said quietly.
“What are you watching?”
I slid out of bed and backed toward the bedroom door.
He sat up too quickly.
“Give me the phone.”
The command in his voice frightened me more than shouting would have.
I held the phone against my chest.
“Your mother put something in Ava’s lunch.”
Mark’s expression changed.
The grieving husband disappeared so completely that I wondered whether he had ever existed.
“You don’t understand what you saw.”
“I heard you tell Ava to keep it secret.”
He swung his feet onto the floor.
I stepped into the hallway and locked myself inside the bathroom before he could reach me.
He struck the door once with the flat of his hand.
“Sarah, open the door.
We need to talk before you do something irrational.”
I stared at my reflection.
My face looked unfamiliar—hollow cheeks, swollen eyes, Ava’s funeral still clinging to me like smoke.
Something irrational.
Our daughter was dead, and he was worried about what I might do.
Miss Greenwood had told me to save the footage somewhere he could not delete it.
I forwarded it to my work email, uploaded it to cloud storage and sent another copy to my sister.
Then I called Miss Greenwood back.
She answered before the first ring finished.
“Did you see it?”
“Yes.” My voice broke.
“What was in the wrapper?”
“I don’t know for certain,” she said.
“But after Ava collapsed, we found part of a muffin beside her lunchbox.
The paramedics took it with them.
Your husband told us it came from the daycare kitchen.”
“Did it?”
“No.
We don’t serve outside baked goods.
We are a nut-free facility.”
Mark hit the bathroom door again.
“Sarah, who are you talking to?”
Miss Greenwood heard him.
“Are you safe?”
“I’m locked in the bathroom.”
“Call the police.
Now.”
I did.
While I whispered our address to the dispatcher, Mark changed tactics.
His voice softened through the door.
“Sarah, please.
My mother made a mistake.
That’s all this was.”
A mistake.
