“Her parents did.”
The words came out more sharply than I intended. “My sister brought her here. She had Paige when she arrived. I didn’t hurt her.” “I understand.”
“No, you don’t.”
My voice cracked.
“My sister told me Paige had been teething. She handed me the diaper bag. She left. Twenty minutes later, Paige started screaming. I checked her because she wouldn’t let me move her leg. That’s when I saw the makeup.”
The investigator watched me carefully.
“Did you apply it?”
“No.”
“Did you wipe it off?”
“I used one baby wipe.”
“How much?”
“Only one small area.” “Why?” “Because I needed to know what was underneath it.” She nodded. “That matches what the hospital documented.” For the first time, I felt a fraction of relief. Then she added, “But your sister says something different.”
My stomach tightened. “What did she say?” “She says the makeup was already gone when you called her.” I felt cold.
“That makes no sense.”
The investigator’s phone rang.
She looked at the screen, stepped several feet away, and answered.
I stood frozen beside the hospital wall.
Through the glass panel, I could see nurses moving around Paige.
My niece.
My tiny, six-month-old niece.
One of the nurses had placed a blanket around her, and even from a distance I could see how small she looked against the hospital bed.
I pressed both hands against my mouth.
Please be okay.
Please.
A few minutes later, the investigator returned.
“We need to ask you some additional questions.”
“Can I see Paige?”
“Not yet.”
“Why?”
“Because the medical team is completing the examination.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
The investigator hesitated.
“She has a fracture.”
The word hit me harder than anything else that had been said.
“A fracture?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
The screaming.
Her stiff little body.
Her leg barely moving.
The makeup.
I suddenly felt sick.
“Was it recent?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the doctors are looking at the injury pattern and determining whether it appears acute or whether there may be evidence of an older injury.”
I looked toward the trauma room again.
“Older?”
The investigator didn’t answer.
A nurse came through the doors carrying a sealed evidence bag.
Inside it was the baby wipe I’d used.
I stared at it.
“You kept that?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t hurt her.”
“I know what you’re saying.”
“No. Please listen to me.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I love that baby. I would never hurt her.”
The investigator’s expression softened slightly.
“I believe that you believe what you’re telling me. But we have to investigate every possibility.”
I nodded, even though I didn’t want to.
Then my phone vibrated.
A text message.
From Kate.
Don’t say anything else to them.
I stared at the screen.
A second message appeared.
You don’t understand what you’ve gotten yourself into.
My fingers went numb.
I showed the investigator.
She read both messages.
“Did she send anything else?”
“No.”
“Don’t respond yet.”
I nodded.
But before I could put the phone away, another message appeared.
This time, there was no text.
It was a photograph.
I opened it.
My breath caught.
It was Paige.
Taken earlier that morning.
She was lying on a changing mat.
Her green sleeper was pulled down around her waist.
And on her left thigh was the same beige makeup.
But the picture had been taken before Kate arrived at my house.
I knew because the blanket beneath Paige was one I kept in my sister’s house.
I looked at the investigator.
“This was taken before she came here.”
“How do you know?”
“Because that’s my sister’s changing mat. And that blanket is from her house.”
The investigator took a photograph of my phone.
“Who sent it?”
“Kate.”
She stared at the screen.
Then she looked at me.
“Did you know about this picture?”
“No.”
“Has your sister ever shown it to you?”
“No.”
“Do you know why she would send it?”
“I don’t know.”
The investigator’s phone rang again.
This time her expression changed immediately.
She answered.
“Yes?”
She listened.
Then she looked through the glass toward the trauma room.
“Understood.”
She hung up.
“What happened?” I asked.
“The pediatric specialist reviewed the imaging.”
My throat tightened.
“And?”
“There are two injuries.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Your niece has a fresh fracture in her left femur.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“And there is evidence of an older healing fracture.”
The hallway seemed to tilt.
An older fracture.
Paige had been hurt before.
And somebody had covered the new injury with makeup.
The investigator continued quietly.
“That changes the scope of this investigation.”
I looked at the photograph on my phone.
At Paige’s tiny face.
At the makeup covering her skin.
Then something about the picture bothered me.
Something I hadn’t noticed before.
“Wait.”
The investigator stopped.
I zoomed in.
There was a faint reflection in the metal edge of the changing table.
A hand.
Only part of it.
But there was something distinctive around the wrist.
A thin silver bracelet.
I knew that bracelet.
My sister wore it every day.
I looked at the investigator.
“That photograph wasn’t taken by someone who found her injured.”
“What do you mean?”
“Kate took it.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Because of the bracelet.”
READ THE NEXT PART: 👇👇
PART 4 – I Took My Screaming Niece to the Hospital—Then the Doctor Found More
