Chapter 5 - The next morning, I went to the hospital before work.Emma was awake.
She looked tiny beneath the blanket.
Her favorite stuffed rabbit was tucked beneath her arm.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“Mommy.”
I kissed her forehead.
“How are you feeling?”
“Sleepy.”
“Do you remember your birthday?”
She nodded.
“The cake.”
I smiled.
“What else?”
“The lemonade.”
My smile disappeared.
“Who gave it to you?”
She thought.
“Aunt Rachel.”
“Did anybody else touch the cup?”
Emma nodded.
“Uncle Mark.”
“What did he do?”
“He smelled it.”
I stiffened.
“Why?”
“He told me not to drink it.”
“What?”
Emma frowned.
“He said it smelled funny.”
My heart stopped.
“Did he give it back?”
“Yes.”
“Did he touch the lemonade again?”
“No.”
“Did you see anyone near it?”
She stared at the ceiling.
Then she whispered.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Why was Aunt Rachel crying?”
“When?”
“Before the party.”
I sat down.
“Where?”
“In the kitchen.”
“What did you hear?”
Emma's fingers tightened around the rabbit.
“She said, ‘You promised.’”
“To Mark?”
“I don't know.”
“What else?”
“She said, ‘You can't blame the little girl.’”
I couldn't breathe.
“Did Mark answer?”
Emma shook her head.
“Someone else did.”
“Who?”
“A man.”
I froze.
“A man was in our house?”
Emma nodded.
“He stayed behind the kitchen door.”
“What did he look like?”
She closed her eyes.
“Tall.”
“Anything else?”
“He had a scar here.”
She touched her cheek.
“And he smelled like smoke.”
My mind immediately went to the black SUV.
Malcolm.
I left the room and called Detective Hayes.
“Emma saw a man inside our house before the party.”
“How sure are you?”
“She described him.”
“Can she describe him to a sketch artist?”
“Yes.”
Two hours later, the hospital produced a drawing.
Detective Hayes stared at it for several seconds.
“Do you know him?”
She didn't answer.
Then she turned the paper toward me.
“This man is not Malcolm Reed.”
“Who is he?”
“Daniel Price.”
“Who?”
“A former surgical technician.”
I felt cold.
“What does he have to do with Mark?”
“He worked at your husband's hospital.”
“Did he know about the sedatives?”
“Yes.”
“Was he fired?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Detective Hayes hesitated.
“For stealing controlled medications.”
My stomach dropped.
“How long ago?”
“Six months.”
“And he knows Mark?”
“They were assigned to the same surgical wing.”
I looked at the sketch again.
The scar.
The smoke.
The kitchen door.
Someone had been inside our home.
Someone who knew exactly what Mark had been doing.
Someone who apparently wanted him blamed for Emma’s collapse.
That evening, I found a second message on my phone.
No number.
Only a photograph.
Emma sleeping in her hospital bed.
Taken from inside the room.
Under the photograph were six words.
ASK MARK ABOUT ROOM 917.
I ran to Detective Hayes.
She immediately called the hospital security team.
The corridor cameras were checked.
At 7:41 p.m., a man wearing a maintenance uniform entered Emma's floor.
At 7:47, he entered Emma's room.
At 7:49, he left.
His face was hidden.
But the elevator camera showed one detail.
His left hand.
A silver ring.
A black stone.
Rachel wore the same ring.
I drove straight to her apartment.
She wasn't there.
But her front door was unlocked.
Inside, every drawer was open.
Her bedroom had been searched.
Her mattress was cut.
Her clothes were scattered across the floor.
On the wall, written in black marker, were three words.
May you like
YOU OWE HIM.
And underneath them was the number.
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