Chapter 3 - The Hospital and the Lies
The pediatric intensive care unit was suffocatingly quiet, saved only for the rhythmic, mechanical beep of Lily’s heart monitor.
My sweet girl was hooked up to an IV drip pumping morphine into her tiny body to manage the agonizing pain. Her chest and neck were wrapped tightly in thick white bandages, and her soft golden hair had been trimmed near the jawline where the heat had singed it into ash. She was finally sleeping, her tiny chest rising and falling in a heavily medicated rhythm.
Matthew sat in the armchair beside the bed, his head buried in his hands, his shoulders shaking with silent, exhausted sobs. I stood at the glass window looking out over the city lights, my hands gripped so tightly into fists that my fingernails cut drawing blood into my palms.
Around 8:00 PM, my phone began vibrating incessantly on the bedside table.
It was my mother. I ignored it.
Then my father called. I ignored it again.
Finally, a text message popped up on my screen from Mom: “Claire, pick up your phone. Natalie is hysterical. You cannot go around telling people Chloe pushed Lily on purpose. Aunt Diane and Uncle Bob heard about what you said at the party, and people are starting to talk. You are destroying this family over an accident.”
A second text followed immediately from my sister Natalie: “I know you’re stressed, Claire, but accusing a nine-year-old of a crime is sick. Chloe is crying in her room because of what you screamed at her. You need to apologize to her when this is over.”
I stared at the glowing screen, a cold, dark fury settling deep into my bones. They weren't worried about Lily. They hadn't asked if my daughter was going to be scarred for life. They hadn't asked if she needed surgery. All they cared about was damage control. All they cared about was protecting Natalie’s pristine reputation and keeping Chloe from facing the consequences of what she had done.
"What are they saying?" Matthew asked, his voice rough and rasping from crying.
I handed him the phone. Matthew read the text messages, his jaw tightening so hard the muscles jumped beneath his skin. He handed the phone back to me and stood up, walking toward the door.
"Where are you going?" I asked softly.
"To the police station," Matthew said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "I'm filing a formal report against Natalie and Chloe for child endangerment and assault."
"Matthew, wait," I said, stopping him at the door. "If we go to the police right now, it’s just our word against theirs. Natalie will claim Chloe lost her balance. Mom and Dad will lie to protect them. They'll tell the officers I'm just a 'hysterical, sensitive mother' who's making up stories."
Matthew looked at me, his eyes burning with helpless frustration. "So what do we do, Claire?! Let them get away with burning our daughter?!"
"No," I said, looking over at Lily’s bandaged body. "We get proof. Real, undeniable proof."
Suddenly, I remembered something.
When the fire broke out, my mother had been recording the birthday song on her phone. She had been standing directly opposite the table, framing Lily, the cake, and Chloe in her camera lens. When I shoved past her to extinguish the fire, she had dropped the phone onto the concrete pavers.
The video.
My mother’s phone had been recording up until the moment it hit the ground. If that footage survived, it would show the exact angle of Chloe’s hands. It would show the look on Natalie’s face. It would show the truth.
"I have to go back to the house," I told Matthew.
"Claire, no, stay here with Lily. I'll go," Matthew offered.
May you like
"No," I insisted, grabbing my purse and jacket. "My parents probably went back to our house to 'clean up' or collect their things. They might try to erase that video if they figure out what's on it. I need to get that phone before they do."
I kissed my sleeping daughter’s cool forehead, whispered a promise in her ear, and walked out into the cold night air.
