Chapter 3 - THE TUESDAY VISIT
“Three weeks ago Tuesday,” I said. “Where was Ethan?”
Michael rubbed both hands over his face.
“Claire, maybe we should do this tomorrow.”
“No.”
Patricia had left ten minutes earlier after I threatened to call someone to remove her if she refused. She had walked out with coffee stains on her jacket and fury in her eyes.
The DNA report stayed with me.
Robert stayed too.
Now Michael and I stood across from each other in the dining room while Robert quietly helped collect the garbage Patricia had scattered.
I opened my phone calendar.
The collection date was May 12.
Tuesday.
Then I remembered.
“My dentist appointment.”
Michael looked at me.
“What?”
“My cleaning was at two-thirty.”
I scrolled through my messages.
There it was.
A text from Patricia that morning.
I can take Ethan after preschool if you need help.
I'd thanked her.
She picked him up at one.
She brought him home shortly after four.
Nothing about that afternoon had seemed unusual.
Except now I remembered something Ethan had said.
Grandma gave me a funny toothbrush.
At the time, I'd assumed she'd bought him one.
I had asked where it was.
He said she'd thrown it away.
I hadn't thought about it again.
My stomach turned.
“She did it at her house.”
Robert tied the garbage bag shut.
“Possibly.”
Michael paced.
“This is insane.”
I stared at him.
“What's insane? Your mother humiliating our child or your mother secretly collecting his DNA?”
“All of it.”
“Then help me.”
“I am.”
“No, you're standing there saying you're confused.”
“Because I am confused!”
His voice rose.
Upstairs, a floorboard creaked.
We both stopped.
I lowered mine.
“Ethan can hear you.”
Michael swallowed.
“I'm sorry.”
I opened the photos from May 12.
I took pictures constantly. Most parents do.
There was one from breakfast: Ethan grinning with cereal on his chin.
Another from that evening: Ethan building a block tower.
Nothing useful.
Then I checked messages.
At 3:17 that afternoon Patricia had sent me a photo.
Ethan sitting at her kitchen island with apple slices.
I enlarged it.
A glass of juice.
A napkin.
A plastic dinosaur.
Nothing else.
Robert came beside me.
“Don't look for what you expect to see. Just look.”
I zoomed farther.
At the edge of the countertop was a small white packet.
Only part of it appeared in frame.
I couldn't read it.
Michael leaned over my shoulder.
“That could be anything.”
“I know.”
I wasn't going to turn every blurry object into evidence.
But Patricia had already admitted taking Ethan's sample.
The photograph confirmed something else: he had been at her home during the collection window.
I called her.
Michael grabbed my wrist.
“Don't.”
I stared at his hand until he released me.
“Why?”
“She'll just lie.”
“Then I'll hear which lie she chooses.”
Patricia answered on the fourth ring.
“What?”
“What did you use to swab Ethan?”
Silence.
“A standard kit.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Online.”
“Which company?”
“The laboratory listed on the report.”
“Did you mail it yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Did you collect Michael's sample too?”
The call went quiet.
Then:
“I had access to what I needed.”
“What does that mean?”
“You should ask your husband.”
She hung up.
Michael stared at me.
“She's manipulating you.”
“Then tell me why.”
“I don't know!”
Robert stepped between us verbally before either of us could escalate.
“Claire, the most useful thing now is preservation. Keep the report. Keep the envelope. Save the messages. Don't alter anything.”
I photographed every page.
Then I photographed the manila envelope.
Front.
Back.
Postage.
Labels.
And that was when I noticed something I had missed during the confrontation.
The manila envelope Patricia had slammed onto my table was not the laboratory's original mailing envelope.
There was no laboratory return address.
No postal barcode.
No sealed laboratory flap.
It was an ordinary office envelope.
Someone had removed the report from whatever packaging it originally came in and placed it inside this one.
That didn't prove the test was false.
But it proved Patricia had handled the report before bringing it to us.
And whatever had happened between the laboratory and Ethan's birthday table was still invisible to me.
May you like
I finally knew when and where Ethan's sample had been taken. But Patricia had repackaged the report before showing us, which meant I still didn't know exactly what she had received.
In Chapter 4, I asked Patricia for the original laboratory package—and her refusal gave me the first reason to believe something was missing.
