Chapter 9: What Serena Said at the Bail Hearing
I didn't go to the bail hearing.
Margaret said I didn't need to, and she was right.
But she called me the moment it ended.
"Bail denied," she said.
"The judge cited flight risk and the multi-jurisdictional nature of the charges."
"What did Serena say?"
A pause.
"Her attorney spoke for her, mostly.
But at one point the judge asked her directly whether she understood the charges.
She said yes.
And then she said —" Margaret stopped.
"She said, 'I have dedicated my life to caring for children.
Every family I've worked for has been lucky to have me.'"
I didn't respond.
"Victor?"
"I heard you."
"I know."
I thought about Paula Hendricks' daughter, flinching when someone raised a hand near her face.
I thought about Diane Marsh posting a warning on a parenting forum that was mostly taken down.
I thought about the anonymous family who had been too afraid of the legal process to report what they'd seen.
Lucky to have her.
"The trial date hasn't been set yet," Margaret said.
"These things take time.
But I want you to start thinking about what you want the next six months to look like.
For you.
For Ethan.
For Lily."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that the legal process will continue with or without your daily involvement.
You don't have to hold this every single day.
You're allowed to put it down sometimes."
I looked through the kitchen doorway.
Lily was at the table with Ethan, helping him stack soft blocks.
He knocked them down.
She stacked them again.
He knocked them down again.
He found this extraordinarily funny.
"I know," I said.
"The household agency, by the way — they've pulled her file and notified three current clients who had contacted her for placements.
None of them had hired her yet.
So there are no active placements to worry about."
"That's something."
"It is." A short pause.
"You did the right thing, Victor.
Every step of it."
"Lily did the right thing," I said.
"I just came home early."
---
That evening, after Ethan was asleep, I sat at the kitchen table with Lily and two cups of tea that went cold while we talked.
She told me about the first time she'd noticed.
Ethan had been about ten months old.
She'd come into the room and found him quiet — too quiet — in a way that hadn't felt right.
No marks that time.
Nothing she could point to.
Just a feeling.
"I almost said something then," she said.
"But I thought — what if I'm wrong?
What if I say something and it turns out I imagined it?
She would have had me gone by morning."
"You weren't wrong."
"No." She wrapped both hands around her mug.
"I started taking photos three weeks after that.
Every time I saw something.
I told myself it was just in case.
That I probably wouldn't need them."
"But you kept taking them."
"Every time." She looked at the table.
"I used to check on him in the night.
After she'd been with him.
Just to make sure he was okay.
I told myself I was being paranoid."
"You were being a protector," I said.
She looked up.
"I mean that," I said.
"You were in an impossible position.
You had no power, no guarantee of safety, and a real threat hanging over you.
And you still found a way to build a case that held up.
That's not paranoia.
That's courage."
Lily looked at me for a moment.
Then she looked back at her mug.
"I just didn't want anything else to happen to him," she said.
"I know."
We sat quietly for a while.
The house was still.
Outside, a car passed.
The refrigerator hummed.
"What happens to me now?" Lily said.
"After the trial.
After everything settles."
I had been thinking about that.
"I'd like you to stay," I said.
"If you want to.
Not because of the case.
Because Ethan trusts you.
And so do I."
She didn't answer immediately.
"You don't have to decide tonight," I said.
"I know." She picked up her mug.
Finally took a sip of the cold tea.
Made a face.
May you like
"I'll think about it."
But she was almost smiling when she said it.
