She was arrested before sunrise and charged with first-degree murder. The betrayal didn’t end there. Claire broke under questioning.
She admitted she saw her mother crushing something near the bottle cart. She said nothing. Fear, loyalty, paralysis—whatever the reason, her silence made her complicit.
Then the social worker spoke to Noah. He was eight. Small legs swinging from the chair, comic book clutched too tightly in his hands.
“Did you see Grandma with the bottle?” she asked gently. He nodded. “She said she was fixing it so Evan wouldn’t cry.”
“Why do you think she said that?”
Noah hesitated.
“She told Dad the baby would be cold soon. That it was better that way.”
Daniel had cried, Noah said. Just cried.
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