Chapter 6 - The Facade Cracks
Dr. Chen took a step back, her sharp gaze shifting from Mark to Evelyn. The clinical coldness of Evelyn’s words was impossible to miss in a hospital corridor designed for grief.
"I am Dr. Chen, Mrs. Vance," the physician said, extending no hand in return. "Elena is currently in an induced coma in the intensive care unit. Her condition is critical."
Evelyn brought a hand to her throat, letting out a small, well-timed gasp. "Oh, the horror. I knew she was unraveling. Mark, I warned you when she stopped nursing last week. A woman who abandons her maternal duties is capable of anything. Even... even abandoning her child permanently."
"She didn't abandon Clara," Mark said, his voice dangerously low, stepping in front of Dr. Chen. "And she didn't stop nursing, Mom. She was still pumping every four hours. I found three bags in the fridge this morning."
Evelyn’s mask slipped for a fraction of a second, her jaw twitching before settling back into a practiced mournful frown. "Well, she lied to you, then. She told me she couldn't stand the sight of the child. She was hysterical. When I tried to calm her down, she became violent. I had to restrain her hands to keep her from dropping Clara."
Dr. Chen’s eyes sharpened. Defensive grip marks.
"Did she take the pills in front of you, Mrs. Vance?" Dr. Chen asked smoothly.
"I didn't see her swallow them," Evelyn answered smoothly, not missing a beat. "I walked into the kitchen to prepare lunch, and when I came back into the living room, she was slumped on the sofa. I thought she was simply sleeping off her tantrum. How could I have known she swallowed a lethal dose?"
"You didn't check on her?" Mark asked, stepping into his mother's personal space, clutching Clara tighter. "For three hours, Mom? Clara was screaming until her vocal cords bled. Elena was turning blue five feet away from you. And you just sat there eating chicken salad?"
"I was taught that an undisciplined child must learn to self-soothe," Evelyn said, her voice dropping into that familiar, suffocating patronization Mark had endured his entire childhood. "And I refuse to be held hostage by a daughter-in-law’s melodrama. If she wanted to die, Mark, that is her moral failure, not mine."
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"She didn't want to die," a voice rasped from the corridor behind them.
Mark spun around. Detective Miller, an investigator from the county family protection unit who handled suspected domestic incidents involving infants, was walking toward them, badge clipped to his belt, holding a clear plastic evidence bag containing the empty amber bottle from the Vance living room.
