Chapter 7 - The Visit at Eight
A child welfare worker knocked at eight the next morning.
Her name was Keisha Warren. She showed identification, explained that the agency had received concerns about Elsie's safety, and asked to speak with both parents. I invited her in. Mara had already seen the unfamiliar car from the window. Her hands shook so badly she couldn't fasten a button on Elsie's sleeper.
"Are you here to take my baby?" she asked.
"I'm here to understand the report and check how your family is doing," Keisha said. "I haven't made any decision about anything."
I started speaking too fast. She asked us to take turns and answer independently. I brought her the pediatrician's note, the urgent care paperwork, and the officers' incident number. Mara showed her the notebook. Keisha asked about feeding, safe sleep, household support, and whether we had anyone we trusted to help without increasing the conflict.
"Dana," I said. "My sister. Maybe."
Keisha inspected the nursery and Elsie's supplies. She spoke to Mara as a parent, not a suspect.
When Keisha asked whether Mara had ever fallen asleep while holding Elsie, Mara answered honestly: once, during a feeding on the couch, before Mom moved in. We'd immediately made a plan to feed in a safer position, with me taking more night shifts. She didn't try to pretend exhaustion had never existed.
"Thank you for telling me," Keisha said.
Afterward she explained next steps and how to contact her. She didn't disclose the reporter's identity. She also didn't remove Elsie. That fact alone felt like oxygen entering a sealed room.
At the door, Keisha paused. "One thing in the report is unusually specific. It claims there is footage of Mrs. Pike leaving the baby alone for thirty-seven minutes on Wednesday evening."
My stomach turned.
"That's the exact time our monitor went offline."
Keisha's gaze sharpened. "Do you have that information documented?"
"Yes."
"Preserve it."
I watched her car pull away. Then I opened the calendar on my phone. Wednesday evening, between 7:14 and 7:51, I had been on a video call with my supervisor. I'd kept it on while driving home from a site. Mara had called twice during that same period. I had ignored both calls because Mom had texted me: SHE'S JUST UPSET AGAIN. DON'T REINFORCE IT.
May you like
Under that message was a photograph Mom had sent: an empty nursery, the crib in frame.
Except in the mirror above the dresser, I could see a small hand wrapped around the edge of the door.
