Chapter 14 - THE LAST ATTEMPT

James read the note twice.

"When was the diaper bag last out of our sight?"

I thought back.

The courthouse.

Urgent care.

My parents' house on Christmas.

Then I remembered.

At the courthouse, Lauren had stood near the bench where the bag sat while I spoke to Mom.

The note could have been there for days.

Or it could have been placed later.

We called the police non-emergency line and documented it.

Then we changed the locks anyway.

We upgraded the cameras.

We told Emma's pediatric office that only James or I could pick her up once she was old enough for childcare.

I hated living defensively.

James reminded me that precautions were not fear.

"They're boundaries with hardware," he said.

Three days passed.

Then a week.

Nothing.

Mom began therapy.

Dad moved into the guest room at their house and told me he needed time to decide whether their marriage could survive the lies.

On January 12, Lauren called.

I almost did not answer.

James sat beside me at the kitchen table.

I put the phone on speaker.

"Claire."

Her voice sounded tired.

"Where are you?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not unless you're planning to come near my child."

Silence.

Then she said, "I didn't mean to hurt Emma."

"You hit her."

"I lost my temper."

"And laughed about it."

"Because everyone was staring at me."

"You left her alone as a newborn."

Lauren exhaled sharply.

"Mom told you everything."

"Enough."

"She made me this way."

There it was.

The excuse.

The escape hatch.

I surprised myself by staying calm.

"Mom enabled you. She did not move your hand."

Lauren started crying.

"You don't understand what it's like being the difficult one in this family."

"I understand what it's like being the one expected to forgive you."

She went quiet.

Then she whispered, "Are you ever going to let me see Emma again?"

I looked at James.

He did not answer for me.

"No," I said.

The word hurt.

It also felt clean.

Lauren sobbed once.

Then her voice turned cold.

"Then you should know I still have something that belongs to her."

The call ended.

Ten minutes later, a package appeared on our porch camera.

No delivery truck.

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No driver.

Just a small cardboard box sitting in the snow.