My sister hit my baby during Christmas dinner and said that his crying was ruining everything

The room became so quiet that I could hear Elias sobbing, his face buried in Mark’s shoulder. Camilla tried to smile — that same smile she always switched on in front of the camera when she sensed danger. But this time it didn’t work.

“What are you even talking about?” she asked too loudly, too sharply.
The cameraman awkwardly turned the lens away. The lights were still on, but the celebration was already dead.

Mark didn’t raise his voice. That was what made it most frightening. He looked at her the way you look at someone who has crossed a line and knows it.

“You went into our guest room last night when you thought everyone was asleep. You opened the crib door and reached your hands toward my son. I was standing in the hallway and saw everything.”

My mother gasped and sank into a chair. My father finally lifted his head. Camilla turned even paler and began to speak quickly — about a misunderstanding, about having ‘mixed up the rooms,’ about being tired. But the words fell apart, because the truth was already hanging in the air.

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