Chapter 3: The Woman on the Other End
The number belonged to a woman named Carol Reyes.
She answered on the first ring, like she had been holding the phone.
"You're Emily," she said.
Not a question.
"I am.
Who are you?"
"Diane's former sister-in-law.
We haven't spoken in four years." A pause.
"I was watching Brooke's stream from my kitchen in Milwaukee.
I saw what happened to your little girl."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"You said you saved the recording."
"I did.
The full forty-seven minutes.
Including the part before the soup spilled."
I went still.
"What happened before the soup spilled?"
"Diane was talking about you.
To the relatives on the stream.
She didn't know the camera was still live." Carol's voice dropped.
"She said she had been waiting for an excuse to — and I'm quoting her — 'put that child in her place since the day Emily brought her home.'"
The room felt very quiet.
"She planned it," I said.
"She was looking for a reason.
The soup just got there first."
I sat down on the edge of my sister's couch.
In the spare room, I could hear Lily's small sounds — the half-words she made when she was dreaming.
"Carol.
Why are you calling me?"
A long pause.
"Because I have a granddaughter the same age as Lily.
And because I watched that stream and I watched every adult in that room do nothing." Her voice steadied.
"And because Diane did the same thing to my nephew's boy twelve years ago, and we all stayed quiet, and I have never forgiven myself for it."
I closed my eyes.
"I need that recording," I said.
"I know.
That's why I called."
We arranged to meet the following morning.
Carol would drive down from Milwaukee.
She would bring a USB drive with the full stream saved in two formats, and she had already written a four-page statement — dated, signed, and witnessed by her neighbor — describing exactly what she had seen and heard.
She had done this before I even called her back.
I asked her why she had prepared all of that before we spoke.
"Because I knew you'd need it," she said.
"And because I knew you were the kind of woman who would actually use it."
After I hung up, I sat for a moment without moving.
Then I opened my laptop and typed the name I had been researching for two weeks: Margaret Hale, Family Law, Chicago.
Rated the most aggressive family attorney in Cook County by three separate legal publications.
Known for custody cases involving documented child harm.
Won the last eleven cases she had taken to trial.
I had her office number already saved.
I called it at 7:04 a.m.
and left a message with her assistant.
By 7:31, Margaret Hale's assistant called back and offered me a 9 a.m.
slot.
I wrote down the address, closed the laptop, and went to check on Lily.
She was awake.
Sitting up in the middle of the bed, holding her stuffed rabbit by one ear, the left side of her face still faintly swollen.
She looked at me and held the rabbit out.
"Mama fix?" she said.
I sat down beside her and took the rabbit.
"Yes," I said.
"Mama's going to fix it."
---
That morning, Jason sent one final text before I walked into Margaret Hale's office.
It read: *Mom says she'll apologize.
Can we just talk before you do something we can't undo?*
May you like
I read it once.
Then I put the phone in my bag and pushed open the door.
