I wrapped the baby in clean towels. I picked him up again, cradled him against my chest. I started rocking him without realizing it. An ancient instinct I thought I’d forgotten.
«Hang on,» I whispered to him. «Please hang on. They’re coming. They’re coming to help you.»
The minutes it took for the ambulance to arrive were the longest of my life. I sat on the kitchen floor with the baby against my chest. I sang. I don’t know what I sang. Maybe the same song I used to sing to Louis when he was little. Maybe just meaningless sounds. I just needed him to know he wasn’t alone, that someone was holding him, that someone wanted him to live.
The sirens broke the silence. Red and white lights flashed through the windows. I ran to the door. Two paramedics rushed out of the ambulance. An older man with a gray beard and a young woman with dark hair tied back in a ponytail.
She took the baby from my arms with an efficiency that broke my heart. She checked him quickly, pulled out a stethoscope, listened. Her face showed no emotion, but I saw her shoulders tense.
«Severe hypothermia. Possible water aspiration. We need to move now,» she said to her partner.
They placed him on a tiny gurney, put an oxygen mask on him. Their hands worked fast, connecting wires, monitors, things I didn’t understand.
The man looked at me. «You’re coming with us.» It wasn’t a question.
I got into the ambulance, sat on the small side seat. I couldn’t stop staring at the baby, so small among all that equipment. The ambulance took off. The sirens wailed. The world blurred past the windows.
«How did you find him?» the paramedic asked as she continued to work.
«In a suitcase. In the lake. I saw someone throw it in.»
She looked up. She stared at me. Then she looked at her partner. I saw something in her eyes. Worry. Maybe suspicion. Maybe pity.
«Did you see who it was?»
I opened my mouth. I closed it. Cynthia, my daughter-in-law. My son’s widow. The woman who cried at Louis’ funeral as if her world had ended. The same woman who had just tried to drown a baby. How could I say that? How could I even believe it myself?
«Yes,» I finally said. «I saw who it was.»
We got to the general hospital in less than 15 minutes. The emergency room doors flew open. A dozen people in white and green scrubs surrounded the gurney. They were shouting numbers, medical terms, orders. They rushed the baby through a set of double doors.
I tried to follow, but a nurse stopped me. «Ma’am, you need to stay here. The doctors are working. We need some information.»
She led me to a waiting room. Cream-colored walls, plastic chairs, the smell of disinfectant. I sat down. I was shivering from head to toe. I didn’t know if it was from the cold of my wet clothes or from shock. Probably both.
The nurse sat across from me. She was older than the paramedic. Maybe my age. She had kind wrinkles around her eyes. Her name tag said Eloise. «I’m going to need you to tell me everything that happened,» she said in a soft voice.
And I told her. Every detail. From the moment I saw Cynthia’s car until I opened the suitcase. Eloise took notes on a tablet. She nodded. She didn’t interrupt.
When I finished, she sighed deeply. «The police will want to talk to you,» she said. «This is attempted murder. Maybe worse.»
Attempted murder. The words hung in the air like black birds. My daughter-in-law. My son’s wife. A murderer. I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t understand it.
Eloise put her hand on mine. «You did the right thing. You saved a life today.»
But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like I had uncovered something terrible. Something I couldn’t push back into the darkness. Something that would change everything forever.
Two hours passed before a doctor came out to talk to me. He was young. Maybe 35. He had deep, dark circles under his eyes and hands that smelled like antibacterial soap.
«The baby is stable,» he said. «For now. He’s in the neonatal intensive care unit. He suffered severe hypothermia and aspirated water. His lungs are compromised. The next 48 hours are critical.»
«Is he going to live?» I asked. My voice sounded broken.
«I don’t know,» he said with brutal honesty. «We’re going to do everything we can.»
The police arrived half an hour later. Two officers, a woman in her 40s with her hair in a tight bun and a younger man who took notes. The woman introduced herself as Detective Fatima Salazar. She had dark eyes that seemed to see right through lies.
They asked me the same questions over and over from different angles. I described the car, the exact time, Cynthia’s movements, the suitcase, everything.
Fatima stared at me with an intensity that made me feel guilty even though I’d done nothing wrong. «And you’re sure it was your daughter-in-law?»
«Completely sure.»
«Why would she do something like that?»
«I don’t know.»
«Where is she now?»
«I don’t know.»
«When was the last time you spoke to her before today?»
«Three weeks ago. On the anniversary of my son’s death.»
Fatima wrote something down. She exchanged a look with her partner. «We’re going to need you to come to the station to make a formal statement tomorrow. And you cannot contact Cynthia under any circumstances. Do you understand?»
I nodded. What was I going to say to her anyway? Why did you try to kill a baby? Why did you throw him in the lake like trash? Why? Why? Why?
The officers left. Eloise came back with a blanket and a cup of hot tea. «You should go home. Get some rest. Change your clothes.»
But I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t leave that baby alone in the hospital. That baby I had held against my chest. Who had breathed his last gasp of hope in my arms.
I stayed in the waiting room. Eloise brought me dry clothes from the hospital storage. Nurses’ pants and a T-shirt that was way too big. I changed in the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked like I had aged ten years in one afternoon.
I didn’t sleep that night. I sat in that plastic chair watching the clock. Every hour I got up and asked about the baby. The nurses gave me the same answer. Stable. Critical. Fighting.
At three in the morning, Father Anthony showed up. The priest from my church. Someone must have called him. He sat next to me in silence.
He didn’t say anything for a long time. He was just there. Sometimes that’s all you need. A presence. Proof that you’re not completely alone in hell.
«God tests us in many ways,» he finally said.
«This doesn’t feel like a test,» I replied. «It feels like a curse.»
He nodded. He didn’t try to convince me otherwise. And I appreciated that more than any sermon.
When the sun began to rise, I knew that nothing would ever be the same. I had crossed a line. I had seen something I couldn’t unsee. And whatever came next, I would have to face it.
Because that baby, that tiny being fighting for every breath in the next room, had become my responsibility. I hadn’t chosen it. But I couldn’t abandon him either. Not after pulling him from the water. Not after feeling his heart beat against mine.
The sunrise came without me even noticing. Light streamed through the waiting room windows, painting everything a pale orange. I had spent the entire night in that plastic chair. My back was aching. My eyes burned.
But I couldn’t leave. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the suitcase sinking. I saw that still little body. I saw the purple lips.
Eloise appeared at seven in the morning with coffee and a sandwich wrapped in foil. «You need to eat something,» she said, putting it in my hands.
I wasn’t hungry, but I ate anyway because she just stood there waiting. The coffee was too hot and burned my tongue. The sandwich tasted like cardboard. But I swallowed. I chewed. I pretended I was a normal person doing normal things on a normal morning.
«The baby is still stable,» Eloise said, sitting next to me. «His body temperature is rising. His lungs are responding to treatment. It’s a good sign.»
«Can I see him?»
She shook her head. «Not yet. Only immediate family. And we don’t even know who the family is.»
Family. The word hit me like a stone. That baby had to have a family. A mother. Cynthia.
But she had tried to kill him. So who was the father? Where was he? Why hadn’t anyone reported him missing? The questions piled up in my head with no answers.
At nine, Detective Fatima came again. She was alone this time. She sat across from me with a folder in her hands. Her expression was hard. Inquisitive. She looked at me as if I were the suspect.
«Betty, I need to ask you a few more questions,» she said, opening the folder.
«I already told you everything I know.»
«I know. But some inconsistencies have come up.»
Inconsistencies. The word floated between us like an accusation. I felt my stomach tighten. «What kind of inconsistencies?»
Fatima pulled out a photograph. She placed it on the small table between us. It was Cynthia’s car. But it was in a parking lot. Not by the lake.
«This photo was taken by a security camera at a supermarket 30 miles from here yesterday at 5:20 in the afternoon.»
5:20. 10 minutes after I saw her by the lake. Impossible.
I looked at the photo more closely. It was her car. License plate and all. «But it can’t be. There must be a mistake,» I said. «I saw her. I was there. I saw her throw the suitcase.»
«Are you completely sure it was Cynthia? How close were you?»
I swallowed hard. «A hundred yards. Maybe more. I saw her from behind most of the time. The gray dress. The dark hair. The silver car.»
«I was sure,» I said, but my voice sounded less convincing now.
Fatima leaned forward. «Betty, I need you to be honest with me. What is your relationship with Cynthia? Do you get along?»
And there it was. The real question. The one I had been waiting for since the police showed up. Because we didn’t get along.
We had never gotten along. From the day Louis introduced me to her, I knew something was wrong with her. She was too perfect. Too calculating. Too interested in the money Louis made as an engineer.
«We’re not close,» I admitted.
«Do you blame her for your son’s death?»
«What?» My voice was too loud. Too defensive.
«It’s a simple question. Do you blame Cynthia for Louis’ death?»
The accident. That’s what everyone called it. Louis was driving home after dinner with Cynthia. It was raining. The car skidded. He crashed into a tree.
