“Leave the newborn in there with her—when the heat kills them both, everyone will believe my unstable wife did it to herself.”

Rachel looked smaller in the hospital bed than she had three weeks earlier when she came home with Lily.

Her lips were cracked. Tiny red marks covered her forearms from the glass. She kept asking whether the baby was breathing, even after the nurse reassured her twice.

I sat beside her.

“What happened in the driveway?”

Rachel looked toward the door.

“Is Tyler here?”

“He can’t come in.”

“Vanessa?”

“She’s with the police.”

Rachel closed her eyes.

“He said I had to stop fighting him. He said Vanessa was staying at the house, and I could either accept it or leave Lily with them.”

“He admitted the affair?”

“He stopped hiding it after the delivery.”

The words landed harder because of how quietly she said them.

Rachel explained that Tyler had pushed her into the back seat while she was securing Lily’s carrier. Vanessa had thrown the diaper bag onto the driveway. Tyler locked the doors and said he would let them out when Rachel agreed Vanessa could move into the guest room and help raise Lily.

“How long were you inside?”

“I don’t know. Ten minutes. Maybe more. I couldn’t think.”

“Why didn’t you climb over the seat?”

“My incision felt like it was tearing. Lily was screaming. Tyler kept standing where I could see him.”

Rachel’s breathing shortened.

I put my hand on the blanket, not on her. She had never liked being touched when frightened.

“The bottles,” I said. “What were you trying to tell me?”

Before she could answer, a pediatrician entered with a social worker from the Department of Child Safety.

Lily had lost nearly eleven percent of her birth weight. Some weight loss was normal, the doctor explained, but Lily’s pattern was not. She had gained for four days, then dropped again after Tyler began handling most overnight feedings.

Rachel turned toward me.

“He told me I was measuring the formula wrong.”

“Were you?”

“I followed the label.”

The doctor asked who usually prepared bottles.

Rachel swallowed. “Tyler did at night. Vanessa did twice when she came over.”

The DCS worker began taking notes.

Tyler had told everyone he was protecting Rachel’s sleep. He posted pictures of himself feeding Lily at 2:00 a.m. He joked in the family group chat that he was “the only functioning parent in the house.”

I had reacted with a heart emoji.

The memory made me feel sick.

The pediatrician asked whether they still had the formula containers, bottle parts, and feeding log.

“They’re at the house,” Rachel said.

The DCS worker looked at me. “Someone should retrieve them without altering anything.”

Rachel reached for my sleeve.

“Mom, don’t go alone.”

“I won’t.”

“And find the yellow scoop.”

“What yellow scoop?”