Chapter 4
The plan was dangerous. It was terrifying. But it was the only way to get the undeniable, concrete proof we needed to clear Leah's name with CPS and put my mother behind bars where she belonged.
I spent thousands of dollars we barely had. I hired a private security firm to install hidden, high-definition micro-cameras with audio recording in every single room of the house. We hid them in the smoke detectors, the air vents, and inside the spine of a book on the nursery shelf.
Then, the hardest part: laying the bait.
I unblocked my mother’s number. My fingers trembled as I typed out the text message.
Mom. Leah is completely out of control. I don't know what to do anymore. She’s taking the baby to her sister's house across the state tomorrow for the weekend. I can't stop her. I'm leaving for a work conference. The house will be empty. I need to talk to you when I get back. You were right.
It made me physically sick to type the words, to play into her twisted narrative. But less than a minute later, the reply came: I always knew, my sweet boy. I will be here for you. We will fix this together.
The next afternoon, we packed the car in broad daylight. We made sure the neighbors saw us leave. We drove three towns over, parked in a discreet rental garage, and slipped into the back of an unmarked van driven by a private investigator I had hired. The van was parked directly across the street from our house, its windows heavily tinted. Inside was a bank of monitors feeding live video from the hidden cameras.
We waited. Five hours passed. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting our suburban street in dark shadows. Leah was holding Maya tightly against her chest in the cramped van, her breathing shallow.
"Maybe she won't come," I whispered.
"She'll come," Leah replied, her eyes fixed on the screens. "She thinks she won."
At exactly 11:45 p.m., a dark sedan rolled silently down our street, its headlights off. It parked two houses down. My breath hitched. A figure in dark clothing slipped out of the driver's side and walked briskly across our lawn, avoiding the motion-sensor lights with practiced ease.
On monitor 1—the front porch—we watched as my mother pulled a set of tools from her pocket. She had learned how to pick our new smart lock. It took her less than two minutes.
Click. She was inside.
"Call the police," I told the investigator. "Tell them there is a break-in in progress. But tell them to approach silently."
On the monitors, we watched my mother move through our home. She didn't look like a loving grandmother. She looked like a calculated intruder. She went straight to the kitchen. She opened the fridge, took out Leah’s carefully pumped bottles of breastmilk, and pulled a small vial from her pocket.
Leah gasped, burying her face in my shoulder. My blood ran cold. She wasn't just trying to make Leah look crazy anymore. She was actively trying to poison our newborn baby.
"Let's go," I said, grabbing a heavy flashlight.
"Wait for the police," the PI warned.
"No," I growled. "I need her on tape admitting it before the cops spook her."
I slipped out of the van and sprinted silently across the lawn. I unlocked the front door with my phone, stepping into the dark hallway just as my mother walked out of the kitchen.
I flicked on the hallway lights.
She froze. The vial was still in her hand. For a second, absolute panic flashed across her face, but it was quickly replaced by her sickeningly sweet, maternal smile.
"Mark! Sweetheart! You startled me," she cooed, quickly slipping the vial into her pocket. "I thought you were out of town? I just... I came to check on the house. To make sure everything was safe for you."
"Take it out of your pocket, Mom," I said, my voice echoing off the walls.
Her smile faltered. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
"Take the poison out of your pocket!" I roared, stepping toward her. "The same poison you put in Leah’s tea! The same poison you were just trying to put in my daughter's milk! I saw you!"
Her facade finally cracked. The sweet, caring mother vanished, replaced by something deeply ugly and deranged. Her eyes narrowed into hateful slits. "She is poisoning your mind! That girl stole you from me! You were my perfect boy, my life, and she came in and took you away! She’s weak, Mark! She's pathetic! I was trying to save you! If she had just lost the baby, she would have broken, she would have left, and it would just be us again!"
"You tried to kill my child," I whispered, the full, horrific reality of her confession ringing in the air.
"It wasn't a child yet!" she spat, pointing a finger at me. "It was a parasite! Just like her! And now she's keeping my grandchild away from me! She deserves to be locked up in a psych ward!"
"No, Mom," I said smoothly, stepping aside as the red and blue flashing lights suddenly illuminated the front windows of the house. "You do."
The front door burst open. Three police officers rushed in, their flashlights blinding. My mother screamed, trying to run toward the back door, but two officers tackled her to the ground. As they slapped the handcuffs onto her wrists, she thrashed violently, screaming my name, cursing Leah, sobbing wildly.
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I didn't flinch. I didn't look away. I watched as the officers pulled the vial of poison from her pocket, bagging it as evidence. I watched as they dragged the woman who gave me life out of my house, knowing she had tried to take the life of my family.
As the squad car doors slammed shut, I walked outside. Leah was standing by the PI's van, holding Maya. We looked at each other from across the lawn. No words were needed. The nightmare was finally over.
