Gathered every page.
Put them back inside the yellow folder.
Then he stopped.
His face turned toward the nursery.
Toward the camera.
The screen went black.
A second saved clip began four minutes later.
Ben reappeared carrying a white laundry basket.
He placed it beside the top stair.
Then, one by one, he tipped towels onto the floor.
I stared at the screen.
That was the scene he had described.
A laundry accident.
A simple fall.
An unfortunate mistake.
Except Ben had created it.
At 9:06 p.m., my phone rang.
Ben.
“The doctor says Laura will be okay.”
I kept staring at the frozen image of the towels.
“They’re keeping her overnight.”
“Was the baby monitor running when she fell?”
Silence.
Then:
“No.”
Too fast.
“Why?”
“No reason.”
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Is something wrong?”
I looked at the monitor.
“Not yet.”
I ended the call.
The next morning, I brought the baby to the hospital.
Laura looked smaller than usual beneath the white blanket.
Her left wrist was wrapped in a cast.
There was bruising along one temple.
When she saw me, her eyes filled.
“Carol.”
I hugged her carefully.
Ben stood near the window.
I placed the baby in Laura’s good arm.
Then I looked at my son.
“Tell me about the yellow folder.”
His face changed.
Laura closed her eyes.
Ben said nothing.
I took the monitor from my purse and placed it on the chair.
Laura stared at it.
Ben went pale.
“You watched that?”
“I did.”
“Mom—”
“You lied to me.”
“I panicked.”
“You arranged laundry around your unconscious wife and told everyone she slipped carrying it.”
“I didn’t push her!”
“No.”
I nodded.
“You didn’t.”
Ben looked relieved too soon.
“You only blocked her path, cafar grabbed something out of her hands, watched her fall, then staged the landing afterward.”
Laura whispered:
