Chapter 8 - Ryan Defended His Mother for Thirty Seconds Too LongRyan didn't sleep that night.
Emily woke at 3:11 a.m. and found his side of the bed empty.
He was downstairs.
Sitting alone at the dining table.
The security camera remained above him.
The same camera that had exposed Margaret.
Emily stood in the doorway.
"Ryan."
He looked up.
"You should be resting."
"So should you."
He looked back at the table.
"I keep seeing it."
"What?"
"The video."
Emily sat carefully.
Ryan stared at the place where Margaret had prepared the food.
"She looked normal."
"That's what scares you?"
"She smiled at you."
Emily understood.
If Margaret had looked angry, wild, desperate, perhaps the act would have been easier to categorize.
But she had sprinkled something into a pregnant woman's food, hidden the bottle, and then smiled.
Emily reached across the table.
Ryan didn't take her hand.
Not immediately.
"I need to ask you something," he said.
"Okay."
"What if she didn't know how strong it was?"
Emily's hand stopped.
Ryan saw her expression.
"I'm not saying she didn't do it."
"Then what are you saying?"
"What if she really meant to make you sick for a few hours?"
Emily stared.
"You understand that doesn't make it better."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Emily."
"She deliberately gave me something without my knowledge."
"I know."
"Our son's heart rate dropped."
"I know."
"We spent two days wondering whether I was going into premature labor."
"I know!"
His voice rose.
Both froze.
Ryan immediately lowered it.
"I'm sorry."
Emily looked toward the staircase.
Eleanor hadn't appeared.
"Why are you searching for a smaller version of what she did?"
Ryan looked devastated.
"Because she's my mother."
There it was.
Emily sat back.
Ryan's eyes filled.
"I want there to be some line she didn't know she was crossing."
"Maybe there was."
He looked at her hopefully.
Then Emily continued.
"But she crossed it anyway."
His hope disappeared.
Emily stood.
Ryan caught her hand.
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Walk away."
"I'm going upstairs."
"You're angry."
"Yes."
"At me?"
Emily looked at him.
"Right now? Yes."
His hand fell away.
"Because I asked a question?"
"Because every time the truth becomes unbearable, you negotiate with it."
Ryan stared.
"First you needed the camera."
"That was fair."
"Then you needed the hospital results."
"Also fair."
"Now you need to believe she misjudged the strength."
"I didn't say believe."
"You're looking for a version where your mother is less guilty."
Ryan's jaw tightened.
"And what are you looking for?"
Emily froze.
He regretted it immediately.
"Forget it."
"No. Say it."
"Emily."
"Say it."
Ryan exhaled.
"Sometimes it feels like you already hated her before this."
Emily stared at him.
The hurt was immediate.
"Wow."
"I didn't mean—"
"Yes, you did."
She stepped backward.
"Your mother criticized everything I did for eight years."
"Not everything."
"My wedding dress."
Ryan closed his eyes.
"Our apartment."
"Emily—"
"My job. The way I cooked. The fact that I kept my last name professionally. The way I planned the nursery. The fact that I wanted to move twenty-five minutes away."
"I know."
"And every time I told you she was controlling, you said she was trying to help."
Ryan looked ashamed.
Emily touched her belly.
"So no, Ryan. I didn't like the way your mother treated me."
"I know."
"But I never imagined this."
He stood.
"I shouldn't have said it."
"No."
"I was angry."
"At the wrong person."
That landed.
Ryan nodded.
"Yes."
Emily went upstairs.
He did not follow.
Twenty minutes later, she heard a car door outside.
Then voices.
Emily got out of bed.
Ryan was standing at the front door.
Margaret stood on the porch.
Dark-blue blouse.
Dark trousers.
Perfect silver hair.
As though nothing had happened.
"What are you doing here?" Ryan asked.
"I came for my things."
"You can't be here."
"It's my home."
"It's Grandma's home."
Margaret's eyes hardened.
"So she finally reminded you."
Ryan stepped outside and pulled the door mostly closed behind him.
Emily stayed where she could hear.
Margaret lowered her voice.
"Your wife is destroying this family."
Ryan stared at her.
"No."
"She's been waiting for this."
"Waiting to be poisoned?"
"Stop using that word."
"What word would you prefer?"
"I made a mistake."
Ryan laughed in disbelief.
"You lied until you saw the video."
"I panicked."
"You tried to delete it."
"I was afraid."
"Of what?"
Margaret's face changed.
"Of losing you."
Ryan stopped.
Margaret stepped closer.
"Emily has spent years pulling you away from us."
"Mom."
"She wants the house."
"No, she doesn't."
"She wants Eleanor's money."
"Stop."
"She wants you to believe I'm some criminal because she knows once that baby comes—"
Margaret stopped herself.
Ryan heard it.
Emily did too.
"Once the baby comes what?"
Margaret looked toward the upstairs window.
Her face went pale.
"Nothing."
Ryan stepped closer.
"No. Finish the sentence."
Margaret shook her head.
"Go ask your grandmother."
"Ask her what?"
Margaret gave him a strange, bitter smile.
"Who gets this house when your son is born."
Then she turned and walked away.
May you like
Emily stood frozen upstairs.
Margaret had just revealed another reason she was afraid of Emily's baby.
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