Part 7
A small burp escaped.
Anne almost smiled, then seemed to think smiling was inappropriate.
“It’s all right,” Elena said.
Anne’s expression softened.
Clara settled against Elena’s shoulder.
Nathan moved toward them and stopped at the edge of the nursery rug.
“Can I take her?” he asked.
Elena knew he meant the baby.
She also knew the question was about more than the baby.
“Not yet.”
He nodded.
Anne went to the kitchen to make tea no one had requested.
Nathan sat on the floor with his back against the crib.
“I thought you were panicking,” he said.
“I was.”
“I thought Margaret was trying to calm the situation.”
“She was carrying Clara away from me.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew she was our daughter then.”
His face tightened.
“I saw your hand reaching toward the bottle. Margaret turned away. I thought you might knock it while she was holding Clara.”
“I would never do that.”
“I know.”
“You did not know.”
“No.” He rubbed both hands over his face. “For one second, I did not.”
The honesty hurt, but Elena preferred it to reassurance.
“Why?” she asked.
Nathan looked at the floor.
“You have been afraid of everything since we brought Clara home.”
“So have you.”
“I hide it differently.”
“That does not answer me.”
He rested his forearms on his knees.
“Margaret seemed certain,” he said. “You seemed terrified.”
“And certainty looked more trustworthy.”
“Yes.”
Elena turned toward the windows. Rain moved in silver lines against the glass.
Her whole life, she had worked to appear composed. In college interviews, hospital waiting rooms, the conference table at her architecture firm, the funeral where her father’s second wife told everyone Elena was cold. She had learned that people believed a woman who spoke slowly and looked dry-eyed.
Motherhood had taken that skill from her.
Her body betrayed every feeling. Milk leaked through shirts. Tears came without permission. Fear appeared in her hands. Love itself felt undignified, enormous and physical.
Margaret had possessed everything Elena had lost: calm hands, measured speech, untroubled authority.
Nathan had trusted the performance.
So had she.
“I need you to say exactly what you did,” Elena said.
“I entered the room. I saw you reaching toward Margaret while she was holding Clara. I stepped between you.”
“Yes.”
“I raised my hand toward you.”
“Yes.”
“I told you to breathe.”
“Yes.”
“I did not ask Margaret to give you the baby.”
“No.”
“I should have.”
Elena’s throat tightened.
Nathan looked at her.
“I’m sorry.”
She adjusted Clara’s blanket though it did not need adjusting.
“I don’t know what to do with that yet.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
“That sounds generous.”
“It isn’t meant to.”
She glanced at him.
His eyes were red now, but he did not look away.
“I believed the person who sounded reasonable,” he said. “I treated your fear like the problem instead of asking what caused it.”
Elena looked down at Clara.
The baby’s mouth remained slightly open in sleep.
“I have been difficult,” Elena said.
“That is not relevant.”
“It is relevant to why you doubted me.”
“No. It may explain my mistake. It does not excuse it.”
The distinction sounded like something David, Nathan’s attorney, would say. Elena nearly accused him of borrowing legal language, then realized he was trying to avoid making her responsible for his failure.
She sat in the silence.
Anne returned with tea and placed it on the dresser. “The agency number is in the household file.”
“Thank you,” Elena said.
“I can stay awake tonight.”
Nathan shook his head. “You have been working since seven.”
“I don’t mind.”
“We do,” Elena said. “Go home after we review the hallway footage.”
Anne hesitated.
“You are not being dismissed,” Elena added. “We just need to understand what happened.”
Together, they reviewed the apartment’s interior security recordings.
The nursery camera captured only the crib and changing area. The hallway camera showed Margaret arriving each night with the same canvas tote. On four mornings, she left carrying a small opaque trash bag separate from the household waste.
Anne identified it as the bag she had used for discarded bottles.
On one recording, Margaret stopped outside the kitchen at five thirty in the morning and removed something from her apron pocket. She placed several caps into the tote before continuing toward the staff room.
There was no sign that she had tampered with sealed products or handled Clara roughly. Every transfer of the baby appeared careful. Every physical movement was calm.
The tenderness made the deception worse.
At midnight, Anne left.
Nathan checked the locks and disabled Margaret’s building access through the management portal. Elena carried Clara into the primary bedroom and placed her in the bassinet.
She remained bent over it long after the baby settled.
Nathan stood in the doorway.
“You should sleep,” he said.
“So should you.”
“I’ll stay awake.”
“That is not a plan.”
“It’s one night.”
“We need our minds tomorrow.”
“I don’t trust myself to sleep.”
Elena straightened.
For six weeks, she had felt guilty each time Nathan went to work exhausted. She told him to use the guest room. He refused, then complained silently through yawns and headaches. They turned fatigue into a contest neither admitted they were keeping score in.
Tonight, she had no energy for performance.
“Sleep for three hours,” she said. “Then relieve me.”
“You need sleep more.”
“I don’t want to close my eyes.”
“Neither do I.”
They looked at the bassinet.
The nursery-camera footage had shown no physical danger. The nurse had offered calm guidance. The bottles were commercially sealed. Clara appeared peaceful.
Still, both parents watched her breathe.
Nathan sat on the carpet beside the bassinet. Elena lay on top of the bed without changing clothes.
Neither slept.
At one fourteen, Clara woke.
Elena reached for her, but Nathan was already standing.
He stopped with his hands above the bassinet. “May I?”
May you like
Elena nodded.
He lifted Clara carefully, one hand supporting her head. She cried against his shirt.
