Claire had written everything down. Patterns. Symptoms. Observations. Warnings I had dismissed. She had questioned the treatment. Noted changes after certain visits. Left instructions—clear ones—to stop medications if things worsened.
I had ignored it all.
I told myself she was overwhelmed. Emotional. Grieving her own fears.
Now it looked like she had been trying to warn me—and I had chosen not to listen.
I couldn’t sit there anymore.
I ran to the nursery.
I demanded answers.
Emily looked up at me, calm in a way that almost unsettled me more than panic would have. She explained that Noah wasn’t being given anything harmful—only a treatment guided by a neonatal specialist, not the doctor I had been relying on.
She believed something deeper was being missed.
Something no one wanted to question.
She showed me her notes. Dates. Reactions. Patterns. Everything aligned with a disturbing consistency.
According to her, Noah’s episodes always intensified after certain visits.
Especially Rachel’s.
Before I could even begin to process that, the door opened.
Rachel walked in.
The tension snapped instantly.
Voices rose. Accusations collided. Confusion turned sharp and ugly.