Chapter 2 - THE PERFECT CHILD AT THE PARTY
Paramedics treated Lily in the driveway while the balloons bounced against the dining-room windows.
Her blood pressure was dangerously low. She responded when they rubbed her chest, but she could not keep her eyes open. One paramedic asked how much clonidine she had swallowed.
Diane folded her arms.
“It was a child’s dose.”
“For which child?” he asked.
No one answered.
I rode with Lily to Edward Hospital. Marcus followed in our car after giving the police our overnight bags and the bottle from the porch.
By noon, Lily was stable enough to breathe without assistance. The emergency physician explained that the medication had slowed her heart rate and lowered her blood pressure. She would remain under observation while toxicology results confirmed the amount.
A child-protection investigator named Karen Doyle arrived before my parents did.
I told her everything: the missing child, the false birthday decorations, Vanessa’s suggestion that I “check the waste,” and Diane’s admission.
Karen asked why my family had celebrated Emma’s birthday three weeks early.
I had no answer.
Vanessa arrived alone and requested to see Lily. Marcus blocked the hospital-room door.
“You knew where she was.”
“I knew after Mom moved her.”
“And instead of calling 911, you made Rachel search through garbage.”
Vanessa looked toward the bed.
“If I’d called, Mom would’ve taken Emma and disappeared.”
Karen asked what that meant.
Vanessa sat down and told us she was in a custody dispute with Emma’s father. After a period of severe depression and missed work, Vanessa had temporarily moved into our parents’ home. Diane paid her attorney and provided most of her childcare.
In return, Diane controlled everything.
The early birthday party was meant to produce photographs showing Emma surrounded by a stable, attentive family before a custody evaluation on Monday.
Lily did not fit the picture.
“She kept saying Emma’s birthday wasn’t today,” Vanessa whispered. “Mom told her to stop. Lily said Emma gets sleepy medicine before pictures.”
Marcus stared at her.
“Does she?”
Vanessa’s silence answered him.
The bottle belonged to Emma. Her pediatrician had prescribed one low bedtime dose for sleep problems associated with ADHD.
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Diane had been giving it during the day whenever Emma became loud, restless or difficult to pose.
The “perfect” child my family praised was being medicated into silence.
