“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
His voice sounded confused.
I looked at Detective Harris.
Then at Emma.
“I’m at the pediatrician.”
“What happened?”
I swallowed.
“Emma told me Grandma has been giving her prescription medication.”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Not disbelief.
Silence.
Then Michael said:
“What?”
“Your mother gave Emma pills.”
“No.”
The word came too quickly.
“No, she didn’t.”
“Emma says she did.”
“She must be confused.”
My eyes closed.
That sentence hurt.
Because I knew exactly where it was coming from.
The same place mine had come from earlier.
The desire to believe something less terrible.
“Michael,” I said quietly, “the doctor identified the medication.”
Another silence.
“What medication?”
“Haloperidol.”
He stopped speaking.
When he finally answered, his voice had changed.
“I’m coming.”
The call ended.
I looked at Detective Harris.
She had heard enough.
“Has your husband ever mentioned giving Emma medication?”
“No.”
“Has Diane ever complained about Emma’s behavior?”
I thought about it.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“Constantly.”
“What did she say?”
I hesitated.
“She said Emma was spoiled.”
Detective Harris wrote that down.
“She said Emma talked too much.”
Another note.
“She said she needed discipline.”
Another note.
Then I remembered something.
“Three weeks ago, Diane told me Emma was becoming impossible.”
I like reading the novels
Good story ml ending