The Question Emily Asked Before the Wedding Music Could Begin Again

Daniel returned them.

Sophie did not speak to him for two days.

“You said she still loves us,” she said finally.

“She may.”

“Then why can’t we keep the backpacks?”

“Because gifts can be messages.”

“What message?”

“That she can reach you when the court says she cannot.”

Sophie looked toward her old backpack, its bottom stained with grass.

“I wanted the pencils.”

Daniel bought the same pencils from a drugstore.

She used them but never thanked him.

The prosecution offered Margaret a plea agreement in early fall.

The first proposal required admission to a lesser offense and included a sentence that could be served partly under home confinement. Margaret rejected it. Her lawyers signaled that they would challenge the children aggressively if the case went to trial.

Daniel received that news from the prosecutor in a conference room with Natalie and the child advocate.

“What does aggressively mean?” he asked.

“It means they may question inconsistencies, memory, adult influence, and prior statements.”

“They’re children.”

“They are also central witnesses.”

Natalie placed both hands beneath the table.

“What inconsistencies?”

The prosecutor opened a file.

“Emily initially said she saw Margaret put pills in the tea twice, then later described seeing the actual transfer once and seeing the bottle and bowl another time. Sophie used the word vitamin because that is what she says Margaret told the server. Defense will argue the children combined events.”

“That’s normal memory,” Daniel said.

“Yes.”

“Then why would a jury hold it against them?”

“Because defense counsel’s job is to create doubt.”

The child advocate spoke.

“You need to decide what burden you are willing to let the girls carry. Not today, but soon.”

Daniel looked at Natalie.

She was staring at the grain of the table.

The prosecutor continued.

“The physical evidence is strong. The assistant and housekeeper are credible. We may obtain a conviction without live testimony from both children, but there is no guarantee.”

“What does Margaret want?” Natalie asked.

“To avoid prison.”

“No. What does she want from us?”

The prosecutor closed the file.

“She wants a letter stating that the family prefers a treatment-based resolution and believes incarceration would harm the children.”

Daniel laughed once in disbelief.

“She used their fear as motive, threatened them with cross-examination, and now wants them as mitigation.”

“No one is asking the girls to write.”

“She wants us to use them.”

“Yes.”

That evening, Daniel and Natalie argued in the garage while the girls watched television inside.

“I won’t write it,” Daniel said.

“I didn’t say we should.”

“You’re considering it.”

“I’m considering what a trial does to Emily and Sophie.”

“She’s counting on that.”

“I know.”

“Then why give it to her?”

“Because the girls are not evidence containers.”

“She harmed you and the baby.”

“She harmed all of us.”

“She could have killed you.”

Natalie pressed one hand against the car hood.

“I know what she could have done. I wake up knowing it.”

Daniel stopped.

She looked at him.

“You want a trial because you want someone official to say you were not stupid for trusting her.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“No. It’s true.”

He turned away.

A row of dead wedding flowers still stood in the garage. He had removed them from the house months earlier and forgotten to throw them away. The petals had browned but kept their shape.

Natalie followed his gaze.

“Those need to go.”

“I know.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

Neither moved them.

Daniel visited Margaret once more before the plea deadline.

This meeting occurred at the county detention office under attorney supervision because prosecutors had requested stricter monitoring after investigators alleged that Margaret used employees to contact witnesses indirectly. She had not yet violated bail formally, but the judge warned her.

She entered wearing a dark blue dress and no jewelry except her wedding band. Henry had been dead four years, but she had never removed it.

Daniel noticed her hair was less carefully colored at the roots.

She noticed him noticing.

“I am not dying,” she said.

“I didn’t think you were.”

“You looked at me as though I were.”

He sat across from her.

The room contained a table bolted to the floor, four chairs, and a camera in the corner. Nothing in it could be rearranged to suit her.

“I’m not writing the letter,” he said.

Margaret’s face remained calm.

“Then why are you here?”

“To ask you not to force the girls to testify.”

“I am not forcing anything. The state chose to prosecute.”

“You could accept responsibility.”

“For an act I did not commit as they describe it?”

Daniel felt anger rise, then settle.

“The lab found the drug.”

“Your father’s medication contaminated an old bowl.”

“In Natalie’s tea?”

“The chain of custody is vulnerable.”

“You said one tablet wouldn’t hurt her.”

“I was frightened and speaking imprecisely.”

“You hid the bottle.”

“Emily moved the napkin.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

Margaret’s eyes shifted.

There it was again: not confession, but calculation.

Daniel leaned forward.

“What did you think would happen?”

Her mouth tightened.

“I will not participate in your fantasy.”

“Did you think she would bleed and leave me? Did you think the baby would die? Did you think you could call it a miscarriage and tell the girls you had protected them?”

Margaret’s composure cracked around the edges.

“You had no right to make another child responsible for repairing your grief.”

“The baby wasn’t for that.”

“You were drowning, Daniel. Then this woman appeared and praised you for breathing.”

“Natalie never praised me for surviving.”

“She made you feel noble for choosing her.”

“I chose her because I loved her.”

“You loved Claire.”