Chapter 3 - My Husband's Perfect AlibiAndrew arrived at the hospital the following morning carrying a bouquet of white roses.
I saw him through the glass panel in Katie's room, smiling at the nurse as though he were a worried father who had spent the entire night searching for his family.
He wore the navy suit I had bought him for our anniversary. His hair was neatly combed. His expression held the right combination of exhaustion and concern.
He looked exactly like the man I had once believed would protect me from anything.
Then he saw me.
His smile disappeared.
“Where have you been?” he demanded.
I stepped into the corridor before he could enter Katie's room.
“Lower your voice.”
“Don't tell me what to do. I've been calling you for hours.”
“She's sleeping.”
“I know that. I'm her father.”
For one reckless second, I wanted to slap him.
Instead, I looked at the roses.
“You brought flowers.”
He glanced down, apparently surprised by the observation.
“Yes. For Katie.”
“You didn't bring her flowers yesterday.”
His jaw tightened.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you weren't here yesterday.”
“I was handling a serious matter.”
“Your mother’s birthday dinner?”
His face darkened.
“Don't start.”
There it was again. The familiar warning he used whenever I asked a question he did not want to answer.
I moved aside when a nurse approached, and Andrew immediately lowered his voice.
“Amanda, whatever my mother said, we need to stop fighting. Katie needs both her parents.”
“She needs parents she can trust.”
Something flashed across his face.
It was gone so quickly that I almost doubted I had seen it.
“What did she tell you?”
The question came too fast.
I had not mentioned Katie's accusation.
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because she's injured. She might be confused. I don't want you putting ideas into her head.”
“Funny. I thought you wanted to see your daughter.”
His eyes shifted toward her room.
“Let me in.”
“No.”
His expression hardened.
“You can't keep me away from my own child.”
“Watch me.”
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then he looked at the flowers and offered me a thin smile.
“Fine. I'll talk to the doctors first.”
He walked away toward the nurses' station.
I immediately texted Detective Reynolds.
Andrew is here. He asked what Katie told me before I mentioned her statement.
The detective replied that officers were nearby and would intervene if Andrew attempted to intimidate us.
I hated needing protection from my own husband.
I hated even more that part of me still wanted to believe there had been some terrible misunderstanding.
At noon, Reynolds met me in a consultation room.
“We've reviewed security footage from a gas station near the accident site,” he said. “Your husband's vehicle appears in the area approximately fifteen minutes before the collision.”
“Does that prove he hit Katie?”
“Not on its own. But the vehicle's damage is consistent with the witness reports. A local driver saw a dark SUV pull away from the roadside without stopping.”
“Did Andrew report his car stolen before or after the accident?”
“After. His complaint was filed approximately two hours later.”
I pressed my hands together.
“He said he was handling something with his mother.”
“We're investigating where he was during that period. He also provided us with an alibi.”
“What alibi?”
“He claims his car disappeared while he was at a business meeting downtown. He says he didn't realize it was gone until he returned to the parking lot.”
“That makes no sense. He was with Katie that afternoon.”
“Did you see them leave together?”
“No. I was working from home. He told me later that he had taken her out.”
Reynolds made a note.
“Do you have messages from him that day?”
I opened my phone.
At 2:11 p.m., Andrew had texted me.
Taking Katie for a treat. Don't wait dinner for us.
At 2:58 p.m., I had asked whether they were coming home.
There had been no response.
Then, at 5:26 p.m., Andrew had written:
She's tired and wanted to walk. I'll be home later.
The message had seemed harmless at the time.
Now it looked like a confession disguised as an excuse.
Reynolds photographed the screen and requested an official copy of the conversation.
“What about the power of attorney?” I asked.
“Northstar Residential Holdings was established less than two months ago. We're checking the ownership records. The property sale was initiated through a company representative who used Barbara's contact details.”
“Why would she need to sell my house?”
“We don't know yet. But the proposed buyer has a connection to someone your husband owes money to.”
My mouth went dry.
“Andrew owes money?”
“That's what we're checking.”
Before I could respond, my phone rang.
Barbara.
I almost rejected it, but Reynolds gestured for me to answer and place the call on speaker.
“Hello?”
“Finally,” Barbara snapped. “Have you finished humiliating my son?”
I kept my eyes on the detective.
“What are you talking about?”
“Police officers have been asking ridiculous questions. You've accused Andrew of hurting that child, and now they're investigating his car.”
“My daughter told me he pushed her.”
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the air-conditioning humming.
Then Barbara laughed.
Not a happy laugh.
A small, brittle sound.
“She's ten years old, Amanda. She's frightened. You should be ashamed of yourself for encouraging her to make accusations against her father.”
“I didn't encourage anything.”
“Then stop lying.”
I felt anger rise through my exhaustion.
“Did you forge my signature?”
The laughter stopped.
“What?”
“The power of attorney authorizing the sale of my house.”
Another pause.
Then she said, “You have no idea what you're talking about.”
“Why did you submit it?”
“I submitted nothing. Perhaps if you spent less time accusing people and more time being a decent wife, you wouldn't be in this situation.”
Reynolds silently motioned for me to keep her talking.
“Then you won't mind explaining it to the police.”
“Be very careful, Amanda.”
“Is that another threat?”
“It's advice. You have a child to think about. You should ask yourself what happens if her father is sent to prison because of a story she invented.”
My hand began to shake.
“You know what happened to Katie.”
Barbara went silent.
Then she whispered, “You need to stop digging.”
The call ended.
Reynolds looked at me.
“Save that recording.”
I stared at my phone.
Barbara had denied submitting the document, but she had not sounded surprised by the accusation.
She had sounded afraid.
And when I looked up, I saw Andrew standing at the consultation room door.
He had heard enough to know that something had changed.
His eyes met mine.
For the first time since I had met him, my husband looked at me as though I were a stranger holding a secret he could not afford to let escape.
He slowly raised his phone.
May you like
Then he mouthed four words through the glass.
You have no idea.
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