Chapter 3 - Reena Arrives
Reena arrived at the hospital at 4:17 p.m.
Beautiful.
Composed.
Dark trousers.
Cream blouse.
Hair pulled back.
She looked like a worried mother.
That mattered.
Abuse does not come with costume.
“Where are my children?”
A security officer intercepted her before she reached the pediatric wing.
Rachel Gomez met her privately.
I saw her through the glass.
Reena looked confused.
Then angry.
Then frightened.
Eventually she saw me.
“You.”
I stayed seated.
“You took them.”
“No.”
“You called CPS.”
“The hospital did.”
“Because you lied.”
I stood.
“Drew crawled to my house with a fractured leg.”
Her face changed.
“He fell.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“The doctor says fracture is older.”
Silence.
Then:
“Doctors guess.”
“Where were they?”
“At home.”
“In the basement?”
Her expression hardened.
“Drew calls everything punishment.”
“Was the door locked?”
“For safety.”
There.
Not denial.
“Were they down there overnight?”
“No.”
“Drew says yes.”
“He has nightmares. He confuses things.”
“Lily hadn’t eaten.”
“She refused breakfast.”
“Since dark?”
Reena looked away.
A security officer stepped closer.
Good.
No confrontation beyond this.
I asked one question.
“What happened to his leg?”
“He fell off the basement step.”
“When?”
“Two days ago.”
“Did you take him to a doctor?”
“I didn’t realize it was broken.”
“He couldn’t walk.”
“He was limping.”
I felt rage rise.
Did not move.
Hospital hallway.
Cameras.
Security.
Children nearby.
I had learned nothing yet but enough to know violence would help her story, not Drew.
Reena said:
“You hated me after Aaron died.”
“That’s not true.”
“You blamed me because he left you.”
“He died.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
Aaron and I had barely spoken the last three weeks of his life.
Our last real conversation ended badly.
He said:
“If something happens, believe Drew.”
I said:
“You need sleep.”
That was the last thing I ever told my brother.
You need sleep.
Not:
I believe you.
That guilt was already opening inside me.
Reena saw it.
Maybe she knew.
“Your brother hurt them,” she whispered.
I looked at her.
“He’s been dead nine months.”
“That doesn’t erase what he did before.”
“No.”
Then:
“But it means he didn’t break Drew’s leg last week.”
Her face went still.
May you like
That became the first crack.
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