Chapter 3 - The Camera in the CornerAt Baylor University Medical Center, Emily lay beneath fluorescent lights with monitors strapped around her abdomen.
One measured her baby's heartbeat.
The other tracked uterine activity.
Every time a line climbed across the screen, Ryan's face tightened.
"Is she in labor?" he asked.
The obstetric resident glanced at the monitor.
"She's having contractions."
Emily turned toward him.
"No."
"We're going to try to calm them down."
"It's too early."
"I know."
"Is my baby coming?"
"We don't know that yet."
Emily began crying.
Ryan took her hand.
"Hey. Look at me."
She did.
"We're here."
"What if something happens?"
"It won't."
"You can't know that."
"No."
His voice broke.
"But I'm right here."
Emily squeezed his hand.
A nurse inserted an IV.
Blood was taken.
Urine samples.
Questions.
Had Emily taken any new medication?
No.
Any supplements?
Only prenatal vitamins.
Alcohol?
No.
Drugs?
No.
Any unusual foods?
Emily looked at Ryan.
"The dinner."
The doctor had already been informed.
"We've requested toxicology," she said. "It may take time."
"What would cause contractions this suddenly?" Ryan asked.
"A lot of things. Dehydration. Infection. Physiological stress. Certain substances."
Emily closed her eyes.
Certain substances.
Ryan looked at the plastic evidence bag containing the bottle.
Police had taken it before he left home.
"What if my mother gave her something?"
The doctor chose her words carefully.
"If there was an exposure, we'll treat what we can clinically while testing continues."
Emily looked at Ryan.
"She tried to throw it away."
"I know."
"She watched me eat."
"I know."
"And that bottle."
Ryan rubbed his forehead.
Emily noticed his hesitation.
"You don't believe me."
His head snapped toward her.
"I didn't say that."
"You don't."
"I found the bottle."
"In her purse."
"Yes."
"And she tried to dump the food."
"Yes."
"Then what are you struggling with?"
Ryan looked toward the hospital-room door.
"My mother doing this deliberately."
Emily stared at him.
A sharper pain than the contractions seemed to move through her chest.
"Ryan."
"I'm not defending her."
"It sounds like you are."
"I'm saying I don't understand why."
"Neither do I."
"She loves the baby."
"Does she?"
Ryan looked at her.
Emily regretted the words as soon as she said them.
But she didn't take them back.
Margaret had been difficult since the pregnancy began.
Not openly cruel.
Never enough for Ryan to call it cruelty.
Small comments.
"You're gaining quickly."
"In my day, women didn't stop working just because they were pregnant."
"Are you sure moving out now is sensible?"
"You don't want the baby growing up away from family, do you?"
Emily had dismissed most of it.
Margaret was controlling.
Traditional.
Overinvolved.
Annoying.
But poisoning?
That belonged to another category of human behavior entirely.
Ryan's phone rang.
Eleanor.
He answered.
"Grandma?"
Her voice was low.
"Is Emily all right?"
"Contractions. They're monitoring her."
"Oh, sweetheart."
"What happened with Mom?"
Silence.
Ryan sat straighter.
"Grandma?"
"The police are still here."
"Why?"
"The camera."
Emily turned her head.
Ryan put the phone on speaker.
"What camera?"
"The kitchen camera."
Emily's breath caught.
Eleanor continued.
"Margaret told them it wasn't recording."
Ryan frowned.
"It records continuously."
"I know."
"Did they get the footage?"
"They're downloading it now."
Ryan looked at Emily.
For a moment, neither spoke.
The room seemed suddenly quieter.
Emily's accusation had been based on behavior.
The tray.
The purse.
Margaret's panic.
But Emily had not actually seen Margaret touch the food.
The camera had.
"What does it show?" Ryan asked.
"I don't know yet."
A male voice sounded faintly near Eleanor.
Then footsteps.
"Someone's coming," Eleanor said.
"Grandma, stay there."
"I'm not going anywhere."
The call ended.
Ryan stood.
Emily watched him pacing.
"You'll believe the camera?"
He stopped.
"Emily."
"I'm asking."
Ryan looked wounded.
"I believe something happened."
"That's not the same thing."
"No."
He sat beside her again.
"I've known my mother my whole life."
"And you've known me eleven years."
"I know."
"I'm carrying your son."
"I know."
"And twenty minutes after eating food she gave me, I'm having contractions."
Ryan closed his eyes.
"I know."
Emily looked toward the ceiling.
For the first time since the pain began, she felt alone.
Then Ryan's phone buzzed.
A message from Eleanor.
VIDEO ATTACHED.
Ryan stared at it.
Emily turned.
"Play it."
He hesitated.
"Ryan."
He tapped the file.
The footage had no dramatic angle.
No music.
No close-up.
Just the ordinary kitchen from above.
Margaret entered.
Looked toward the staircase.
Opened her purse.
Removed the small bottle.
Emily stopped breathing.
On-screen, Margaret leaned over the food.
Her hand shook something across the tray.
Then she mixed it with a spoon.
Ryan went completely still.
Emily watched his face rather than the screen.
The betrayal arrived slowly.
First disbelief.
Then recognition.
Then horror.
The video continued.
Margaret hid the bottle.
Emily walked downstairs.
Margaret smiled.
Come eat.
Ryan paused the recording.
For several seconds he could not speak.
Then he whispered:
"Oh my God."
Emily's eyes filled.
Ryan looked at his wife.
There was no hesitation anymore.
No confusion.
No mother to defend.
Only the truth.
"She did it."
Emily swallowed.
"Yes."
Ryan stood so quickly the chair scraped the floor.
"I'm calling the police."
Before he could, Eleanor called again.
Ryan answered.
"Grandma?"
Eleanor's voice was shaking.
"Ryan."
"What happened?"
"Your mother just tried to delete the recording."
Ryan froze.
Emily stared.
"Did she?"
"No."
"Where is she?"
A pause.
May you like
Then Eleanor said something neither of them expected.
"She's gone."
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