Chapter 2 - The Planted Evidence
The cold steel of the handcuffs bit deeply and painfully into my fragile skin.
I sobbed hysterically as the officer forced me into a hard plastic chair in a windowless interrogation room.
Mark had been escorted out into the hallway, loudly demanding that Child Protective Services take our baby away from me forever.
A seasoned female detective named Reynolds walked into the room a few minutes later with a stern expression.
She placed a digital recorder on the small metal table between us and pressed a glowing red button.
"I need you to tell me exactly what happened tonight, starting from the moment the baby woke up," Detective Reynolds demanded.
I took a shaky breath and recounted the entire horrific argument with my mother-in-law.
I explained how Diane had always hated me, but I never imagined she would physically strike me while I was holding a newborn.
The detective listened silently, aggressively taking notes on a yellow legal pad.
"Your husband claims you have been suffering from severe postpartum depression and that you resent the child," she stated flatly.
"I love my daughter more than anything in this world, and I would never hurt her," I begged, crying uncontrollably.
"Then explain how a lethal dose of liquid phenobarbital ended up in your baby's system," she countered.
I frantically shook my head, swearing that I had no idea what that drug even was.
Detective Reynolds stood up and walked over to an evidence bag resting on a nearby counter.
She dropped the clear plastic bag onto the table right in front of me.
Inside the bag was a small, amber-colored glass dropper bottle with a faded prescription label.
"My officers just finished searching the diaper bag you brought into the emergency room," she explained.
"We found this bottle hidden inside a zippered compartment underneath a stack of diapers."
I stared at the bottle in absolute terror, suddenly remembering the "colic drops" Diane had offered me earlier that evening.
"Diane gave that to me!" I shouted desperately.
"She told me it was a natural herbal remedy for crying, but I refused to use it."
The detective leaned forward, resting her hands flat on the metal table.
"That is a very convenient story to blame your mother-in-law," she whispered coldly.
"But our crime lab just rushed a fingerprint analysis on the glass bottle."
My stomach dropped into a bottomless pit as I realized how perfectly I had been framed.
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"Diane's fingerprints are not on this bottle," the detective revealed with a sinister smirk.
"The only fingerprints covering this evidence belong entirely to you."
