Chapter 5 - Amy Finally Told Me Everything
Police stayed outside our house that night.
I didn’t sleep.
Neither did Amy.
Frederick slept between us in a portable crib.
Every small sound made me look toward the window.
Around three in the morning, Amy spoke.
“She followed me.”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
“Your mother.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
I sat up.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Amy stared into the darkness.
“I tried.”
The words hit harder than anything else.
“When?”
“Remember the night you came home from Memphis?”
I remembered.
I had worked a three-day engineering inspection.
Amy had seemed distant when I returned.
“You said you were exhausted.”
“I was.”
“But I also tried telling you something was wrong.”
I searched my memory.
She had mentioned Teresa stopping by too often.
I had kissed her forehead and said Mom was probably just excited about the baby.
My chest tightened.
“I dismissed you.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should have listened.”
Amy was quiet.
Then she began telling me everything.
Teresa had criticized how she fed Frederick.
How she folded laundry.
How she dressed.
How often she called her own mother.
How much money she spent at the grocery store.
She demanded receipts.
Not because I asked her to.
Because she claimed I had.
She opened Amy’s packages.
She searched our pantry.
She moved decorations around because they looked cheap.
She once threw away a framed wedding photograph because, according to Teresa, Amy looked “too pleased with herself.”
Then came the humiliation.
Teresa began inviting relatives over during the week.
She would tell Amy to cook.
When Amy refused, Teresa called me at work and complained that Amy was overwhelmed.
Then Teresa would send me messages pretending to be supportive.
Connor, don’t worry about dinner tonight.
I’m helping Amy.
I had thanked her.
Every thank-you I sent probably convinced Amy that I approved.
“I thought you were choosing her side without saying it,” Amy whispered.
I felt sick.
“Why did you stay?”
She looked toward our son.
“Because I loved you.”
“Because I knew the man I married wasn’t the man she described.”
“But after a while, I started wondering whether I was wrong.”
I reached for her hand.
“I’m sorry.”
Her fingers closed around mine.
“I don’t need you to apologize for what she did.”
“I need you to believe me now.”
“I do.”
“Every word.”
At sunrise, Detective Morales returned.
The brick had no usable fingerprints.
The photograph had been printed at a pharmacy kiosk.
Security footage showed a person wearing a hoodie and baseball cap.
But investigators discovered something else.
The photograph itself contained metadata.
It had originally been taken on Mason’s phone.
My cousin had been following Amy.
Morales showed me the location history obtained from Mason’s device.
Pediatrician.
Grocery store.
Park.
Our neighborhood.
He had repeatedly appeared near Amy over the previous six weeks.
“What was he trying to do?”
Morales shook his head.
“We’re still determining that.”
Then he showed me a text conversation between Mason and Teresa.
Mason:
She took the baby to the doctor again.
Teresa:
Find out what she tells them.
Mason:
Why?
Teresa:
Because if she claims the child is sick too often, we can use it.
I stared at the screen.
“Use it for what?”
Morales swiped to another message.
Teresa:
Connor works all day.
If we show Amy is unstable, Frederick stays with family.
I stopped breathing for a moment.
My mother wasn’t only planning to take my house.
She had been building a story that Amy was an unfit mother.
If she could destroy our marriage and pressure Amy out, she intended to position herself as the person who should help raise Frederick.
My son.
The little boy whose birthday she had supposedly been celebrating.
I walked outside.
The morning sun was rising over our backyard.
A deflated birthday balloon was tangled in the fence.
Amy came beside me.
“What is it?”
I handed her the phone.
She read the messages.
Then she looked at our house.
Her expression changed.
Not fear.
Not sadness.
Resolve.
“No more hiding.”
I nodded.
“What do you want to do?”
Amy looked straight at me.
“I want everyone to know exactly what she did.”
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And for the first time since Friday night, my wife didn’t sound defeated.
She sounded ready for war.
