“She twisted,” she said.
“I lost my grip for a second.”
The doctor asked how far Harper fell.
“She did not fall.”
“You just said you lost your grip.”
“I caught her.”
“Where did her head make contact?”
“It did not.”
The doctor pointed toward the images.
“Then this explanation still does not account for her injury.”
Janice’s composure cracked.
She turned on me.
“This is your fault.
If you had taught her to sleep properly, none of this would have happened.”
There it was.
Not remorse.
Not horror.
Blame.
My daughter had been injured, and Janice’s first real emotion was anger that I had made the child difficult to control.
I walked to the edge of Harper’s bed and placed my hand beside hers.
I did not touch the IV.
I only let my finger rest where she could feel me if she woke.
“You entered our home with the key I trusted you with,” I said.
“You went into my baby’s room while we were sleeping.
You hurt her because she cried for me.”
Janice shook her head.
“You cannot prove that.”
The nurse spoke from beside the computer.
“Your statements are being documented.”
Janice’s eyes widened.
The nurse continued.
“The paramedics also documented what you said at the house.
The intake nurse recorded your account when you arrived.
Those accounts do not match what you are saying now.”
The social worker asked whether Janice had ever disciplined Harper physically before.
“No.”
“Have you ever handled her roughly?”
“No.”
“Have you ever dropped her?”
“Never.”
“Were you caring for her when the earlier bruise appeared?”
Janice looked at Ethan again.
He did not rescue her.
“Yes, but she bumped herself.”
The doctor explained that further imaging and specialist review would be needed.
He also said the pattern and age of the injuries would be compared with every account we provided.
Janice folded her arms.
“This family is going to regret humiliating me.”
I looked at my sleeping daughter.
“No,” I said.
“You are finally going to regret humiliating us.”
Security escorted Janice to another room.
As she passed Ethan, she whispered that he was allowing his wife to destroy his mother.
He did not answer.
When the door closed, he reached into his pocket and placed our spare house key on the counter.
Janice had carried it on a silver ring shaped like a heart.
