Chapter 4: The Number I Didn't Recognize
I stared at the message the entire ride to the hospital.
*You should know this isn't the first house she's done this in.*
No name.
No follow-up.
Just those fifteen words sitting at the bottom of my screen like something dropped through a mail slot and left for me to find.
I typed back: *Who is this?*
No reply.
At the hospital, a pediatric nurse took Ethan into an examination room.
I sat in the plastic chair outside and watched the door.
My hands were resting on my knees.
I noticed they had stopped shaking somewhere between the ambulance and the corridor.
I didn't know when.
I just noticed they were still.
A doctor came out forty minutes later.
Dr.
Reyes.
She was direct and unhurried.
"Your son has a hairline fracture in his radius," she said.
"It's consistent with a forceful grip applied to a small arm.
At his age, the bones are still forming.
It doesn't take much."
"Will it heal?"
"Completely, yes.
He's young.
But I want to be clear with you — this injury did not happen from a fall.
It happened from a hand."
I nodded.
"A social worker will need to speak with you before discharge.
That's standard in cases like this.
It's not a reflection on you.
It's the process."
"I understand."
She looked at me for a moment.
"Is there anyone you want to call?"
I thought about that.
My parents were three states away.
My brother would want to drive through the night.
My colleagues would ask questions I didn't have answers to yet.
"Not tonight," I said.
She nodded and went back inside.
I looked at my phone again.
The unknown number had not replied.
I called it.
It rang four times.
Then a woman's voice answered.
Careful.
Like she'd been waiting but hadn't decided yet whether she would speak.
"Hello?"
"You sent me a message tonight," I said.
"About Serena."
A pause.
"I wasn't sure you'd call."
"Who are you?"
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"My name is Diane Marsh.
Serena worked for my family two years ago.
She was our nanny."
I stood up from the chair.
"What happened?"
"My son was eight months old when she started." Diane's voice was steady, but only just.
"He was eleven months when I noticed the bruising.
On his legs.
His back.
Places that didn't make sense for a baby who wasn't walking yet."
"Did you report it?"
"I tried.
She left before the investigation was completed.
She gave notice the same day I told my husband.
We never found out how she knew." A short breath.
"She had a reference from us.
I don't know how.
I never gave her one.
But somehow she had a letter with my name on it."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"She forged a reference letter."
"I believe so.
Yes."
I sat back down.
The corridor was quiet.
A nurse walked past and didn't look at me.
"How did you get my number?" I asked.
"A woman named Lily called me," Diane said.
"She found me through a parenting forum.
I had posted something, a long time ago, warning people.
Most of it was taken down.
But Lily found an archived version and tracked me through a comment I'd left."
Lily.
Who had been too frightened to speak for months.
Who had collected three timestamped photographs and said nothing until the night I came home early.
"She reached out to you before tonight?" I said.
"Three weeks ago.
She asked me to contact you directly if anything happened.
She said she was afraid that if she told you herself, Serena would find a way to make her look unstable."
I closed my eyes.
Three weeks.
Lily had been building a case for three weeks, quietly, carefully, from inside the same house as the woman she was building it against.
"Mr.
—" Diane started.
"Victor."
"Victor.
I want to give a statement.
To whoever is handling this.
I should have pushed harder two years ago.
I didn't.
And I've thought about that every day since."
"I'll have someone contact you tomorrow," I said.
"Will you be available?"
"I'll make myself available," she said.
"Whatever you need."
I thanked her and ended the call.
I sat in that corridor for another minute, the phone face-down on my knee, looking at the closed door behind which my son was sleeping with a fractured arm and a foam support and no idea that the woman who had h*rt him had done it before.
To someone else's child.
In someone else's house.
With a forged letter in her pocket and a calm smile ready for anyone who asked.
My phone lit up.
A message from the officer who had taken my statement.
*Sir — Ms.
Serena Calloway has retained an attorney.
She will not be available for further questioning tonight.
You may want to speak with your own legal counsel in the morning.*
I read it twice.
Then I opened my contacts and scrolled to a name I hadn't called in two years.
Margaret Osei.
Family law.
May you like
The best I knew.
I pressed call.
