Chapter 4 - The Key
Linda's box held a baby monitor, a wall decal, and a framed sign that said GRANDMA'S LITTLE GIRL. She walked past me toward the nursery as if our home were a showroom she'd reserved.
"Stop," I said. "Why do you have a key?"
She turned with a wounded expression. "Daniel gave me one for emergencies."
"He didn't tell me."
"Well, somebody has to think ahead."
Daniel followed us into the hallway. "She was watering the plants when we were away. I forgot to mention it."
We hadn't been away overnight in eight months.
Linda put the monitor on our dresser. "I'll set up the other camera at my place. That way we can check on her from either house."
I lifted it off the dresser. "There won't be a camera at your house. And there won't be sleepovers."
"You can't keep a child from her grandmother."
"I can decide where my newborn sleeps."
She looked to Daniel for rescue. He stared at the ceiling. The same old silence, only this time I could see it making room for someone else to speak for me.
"Give me your key," I said.
Linda clutched her purse. "I will not be interrogated in my son's home."
"It's my home too."
"Then act like a wife instead of an enemy."
My wrist throbbed. I thought of the sound my body made against that chair. Daniel finally said, "Mom, maybe go home."
She left with the box, but not the key.
That evening I checked our doorbell camera. Its app kept a history of motion alerts, even when no one rang. There was Linda on Tuesday, opening the door at eleven in the morning. She'd stayed for forty-three minutes while I was at work and Daniel was out. In the image she carried a flat blue folder into the house. When she left, the folder was under her arm again.
May you like
I walked to our bedroom and opened the drawer where I kept insurance papers, maternity leave forms, and the little notebook of names I'd written for our daughter.
The drawer was almost empty.
