But the doubt never left.
Every time Noah cried, Daniel acted personally offended. Every illness was my fault. Every milestone was “too soft,” “too slow,” “too attached to you.” He called him “your son” long before the divorce papers did.
“He said things,” I admitted. “But the paternity test proved Noah was his.”
“When?”
“When Noah was two.”
“Who arranged the test?”
My hands went cold.
“My mother.”
Harris said nothing.
I stared at him.
“No,” I said.
He remained silent.
“No,” I repeated, louder. “My mother hated Daniel. She never wanted me to marry him.”
“Are you sure?”
I thought of my mother’s cold laugh on the phone.
You never should’ve left him with me.
I thought of Madison’s voice.
He got what he deserved.
I thought of Noah whispering, Daddy.
“What did the videos show?” I asked.
Harris looked toward the ICU doors.
“They showed enough for arrest warrants. Your mother, your sister, and Daniel Carter are part of something larger than this incident.”
