Chapter 4 - The Red Star
The next morning, Dr. Singh held up a clear evidence bag. Inside was a red plastic star no bigger than a shirt button, with a broken loop on one point.
"The paramedics brought this," she said. "They said it came out when your son began breathing again. Do you recognize it?"
"No. I didn't buy him a toy. I couldn't even buy him pie."
"Small objects are a serious choking risk at this age." She set the bag on the table. "We're documenting the source if we can, but first I want you to understand something. A child choking badly may not be able to talk or cry."
I remembered the terrible silence that I'd mistaken for stubbornness.
"Is there a class?" I asked.
"Yes. We'll help you find one."
I left the room and finally called the stranger I'd accused. The officer had given me a number after I asked twice. It rang four times.
"Mercer."
"This is Leo's mom."
Silence.
"I owe you an apology. The doctor said you helped."
"How's the boy?"
I pressed my forehead against the hallway wall. "Breathing. Talking a little. Scared of me."
"Give him time," Jax said. "Give yourself time to earn it."
He was right, and I hated that he didn't make it easier.
"There's something else," I told him. "They found a red star in his mouth."
His silence sharpened. "Plastic? Broken loop?"
"Yes. How did you know?"
"Because I saw a jar of those on the counter when I came in. It said LUCKY STARS. Kids get one with a meal."
"The owner told the police he doesn't give toys away."
"Then somebody's lying," Jax said.
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My phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number. No greeting. Just a photograph of a full jar of red stars next to the diner cash register.
Under it were six words: YOUR SON WAS NOT THE FIRST.
