Chapter 4 - The True Monster
My lawyer opened his leather briefcase and pulled out a digital tablet.
He placed it on the metal table and pressed play on the recovered video file.
The screen showed the pristine kitchen of my parents' house just before eight in the morning.
Emma was quietly climbing into the wooden chair usually reserved for Lily.
Vanessa was standing by the refrigerator, holding a glass of orange juice.
My mother was the one standing directly in front of the hot stove.
I watched in absolute horror as my mother calmly picked up the cast-iron skillet.
She did not look angry, nor did she look out of control.
She looked entirely calculated as she turned and hurled the boiling pan directly at my four-year-old daughter.
I covered my mouth to muffle the scream tearing at my throat.
The woman who gave birth to me had tried to kill my child.
The video continued, showing my father walking into the kitchen seconds after the crash.
He did not rush to help his bleeding granddaughter on the floor.
He calmly grabbed Vanessa by the shoulders and instructed her to take the blame if the police arrived.
They knew Vanessa would face lighter consequences because she could claim it was a sibling dispute over the children.
My lawyer paused the video and looked at me with deep sympathy.
He told me the detective was forced to drop all charges against me immediately.
The police were currently en route to arrest my mother for attempted murder.
The handcuffs were finally unlocked from my wrists.
I rubbed my bruised skin, feeling a surge of adrenaline masking my exhaustion.
I told my lawyer I needed to get back to the hospital to see Emma right now.
He offered to drive me, knowing my ex-husband had likely abandoned my car at the precinct.
We drove through the city as the afternoon sun began to set.
I finally felt like the terrifying ordeal was drawing to a close.
We pulled up to the emergency entrance of the pediatric trauma center.
I ran through the sliding glass doors, ignoring the security guard asking for my visitor badge.
I sprinted down the white corridor toward room 412, where I had left my daughter.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open, tears of relief already forming in my eyes.
The hospital bed was perfectly made with fresh, clean sheets.
Emma was completely gone.
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A terrified nurse walked into the room, holding a clipboard against her chest.
She told me Emma had been discharged twenty minutes ago by her legal guardian.
