Phantom pain shot through me. In my previous life, I'd refused. This woman had pinned me down and chopped off two of my fingers. Later, they told the police I'd had a psychotic break and mutilated myself.
Every person in this room had testified against me.
This time, I didn't fight. I gave a stiff nod.
"I'll sign."
As the ink dried, relief swept through the living room. Derek walked over and patted my shoulder, a satisfied smile on his lips.
"Good. It's done. Go clean yourself up. We need to handle the child first."
Handle. He spoke of the body like a dead fish rotting on the counter.
My eyes drifted toward the window again.
"I want to see him..."
I stepped toward the door.
Derek moved instantly, his arm shooting out to block my path.
"Don't look."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "It'll only make it harder. Let Diana and the others take care of it. She's a nurse—she has experience with these things."
Has experience.
Bile rose in my throat.
I looked up at him, feigning fragility. "We can call the police now, right? The child is dead... we have to report it."
Derek's expression stiffened. He draped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me back to the sofa.