Chapter 7 - The Confrontation-7
Theresa took two steps into the living room, her sharp eyes scanning the room, landing on the turned-off phone still resting on the coffee table.
"Valerie," David said softly, taking a step toward me with his hands raised. "Look at us. You look terrible. Did... did something happen to Ethan while we were gone?"
I looked at David. I looked deep into the eyes of the man I had lived with for four years—the man who had held my hand in the delivery room, who had promised to protect our family, and who had sold out his own flesh and blood for a share of thirty million dollars.
"Why did you go to Key West, David?" I asked softly, my voice weak and raspy.
David sighed, shaking his head with rehearsed sorrow. "We told you, Valerie. You were hysterical. You were seeing things that weren't there. We needed you to calm down and realize you were having a severe postpartum breakdown."
"I told you he was turning blue," I whispered, holding the blankets closer. "I told you he couldn't breathe."
Theresa stepped forward, placing a cold hand on David's arm. "Valerie, dear, you were hallucinating. New mothers often imagine things when they suffer from severe psychosis. Where is Ethan? Did you leave him in his crib?"
Theresa moved past me toward the stairs, eager to check if her poisoned formula had completed its horrifying work.
"He's not upstairs, Theresa," I said coldly.
Theresa stopped on the bottom step, frowning. "What do you mean he's not upstairs? Where did you put him?"
I reached up to my face, pulled out a wet wipe from my pocket, and calmly wiped away the dark makeup beneath my eyes.
I stood up straight, pulling back my shoulders, letting the weak, broken posture vanish completely.
"He is currently in the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit at Doernbecher Children's Hospital," I said, my voice ringing clear and strong through the quiet house. "Surrounded by world-class pediatric cardiologists, protected by federal security guards, and completely free of the toxic sedatives you put in his formula."
David’s face drained of all color. "What... what did you just say?"
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Theresa’s jaw dropped, her eyes darting nervously toward the coffee table. "You're crazy! You're completely out of your mind! What sedatives?!"
"Diphenhydramine derivative mixed with an industrial surfactant," I stated with clinical precision. "The exact same bottle currently sitting in a police evidence bag, recovered from the hollowed-out jewelry box in your bedroom closet, Theresa."
