Chapter 3 - The Woman Who Planned the AftermathMy mother stepped into the office as if she were entering an ordinary room.

She looked at the folder in my hands.

Then at Detective Cole.

Then back at me.

“You've made a terrible mistake,” she said.

I almost laughed.

“A terrible mistake?”

“Yes.”

“You attacked my daughter.”

“No,” she said.

“Your sister did.”

“Mom,” I said, “you texted her to handle Emma.”

Her expression didn't change.

“You don't understand what you saw.”

Detective Cole stepped forward.

“Mrs. Bellini, we're going to ask you some questions.”

She folded her arms.

“Without my attorney, I have nothing to say.”

“That is your right.”

He nodded toward the officer.

“Secure the room.”

My mother smiled.

That smile terrified me more than anger would have.

She turned to leave.

Then stopped.

“Rachel.”

I looked at her.

“You should ask yourself why Emma was always so important to your sister.”

The door closed.

I stood frozen.

Detective Cole opened another drawer.

Inside were bank statements.

Trust documents.

Insurance paperwork.

And a life insurance policy.

I recognized the name immediately.

Mine.

My hands started shaking.

“Why does my mother have this?”

Detective Cole scanned it.

“Who is the beneficiary?”

I looked.

My mother.

Twenty-five years ago, my father had apparently purchased a policy on both of us when we were younger.

But the policy had been updated six months earlier.

The death benefit had doubled.

I looked at the date.

Two months before my daughter was attacked.

I felt dizzy.

“You think they wanted me dead?”

Detective Cole didn't answer.

“We're not drawing conclusions yet.”

Yet.

That word stayed with me.

At 6:04 p.m., we returned to the hospital.

Emma was waking.

Her eyelids fluttered.

I moved close.

“Baby?”

Her eyes opened halfway.

“Mama?”

My heart broke.

“I'm here.”

She tried to lift her hand.

I took it.

Her fingers trembled.

“Did I do bad?”

“No.”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

“No, sweetheart.”

“Lily's chair...”

I fought tears.

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

She looked confused.

Then scared.

“Grandma said...”

She stopped.

“What did Grandma say?”

Emma's eyes closed.

I waited.

“She said I had to...”

Her breathing became uneven.

I pressed the nurse button.

Emma whispered one final word before drifting back.

“Hide.”

My blood ran cold.

“What did you say?”

But she was already unconscious.

Detective Cole arrived shortly after.

I told him.

He was silent for a long time.

Then:

“She may have overheard something.”

That night I barely slept.

At 2:16 a.m., my phone lit up.

An email.

No sender name.

One attachment.

A video file.

I opened it.

It showed my parents' kitchen.

Timestamp: 8:06 a.m.

The recording began eleven minutes before the attack.

Vanessa stood near the island.

My mother entered.

They spoke quietly.

The audio was faint.

I turned the volume up.

My mother's voice became clear.

“Make it look like she wandered into Lily's place.”

Vanessa whispered:

“And if Rachel sees?”

My mother replied:

“She won't.”

The video froze.

Then another camera angle appeared.

My father walked into frame.

He said something that made my entire body go cold.

“Once Emma is unconscious, we'll finally have what we need.”

The video ended.

I stared at the screen.

“What do they need?”

Detective Cole watched it twice.

“Can you identify the sender?”

“No.”

“Any idea why they sent it?”

I shook my head.

Then my phone buzzed again.

A second message.

No words.

Just a photograph.

It showed Emma's daycare classroom.

Circle time.

Twenty children.

And a man standing outside the window.

I recognized him.

He was my father.

I zoomed in.

Something was written on the glass reflection behind him.

Three letters.

DNA.

Detective Cole looked at me.

“Rachel...”

“I know.”

“What?”

“They're not trying to take Emma away from me.”

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I swallowed hard.

“They're trying to prove she's someone else's child.”