Everyone thought the baby was just “difficult” because he cried at night—until the Black maid quietly lifted the corner of the mattress and froze.

“I sent them to Mr. Hartwell,” Naomi lied. She hadn’t sent them yet—she hadn’t had time. But she needed to stall. “And I’m calling 911 right now.”

Evelyn lunged.

She was fast, fueled by adrenaline and rage. She swung the perfume bottle at Naomi’s head.

Naomi ducked. The bottle smashed against the wall, shattering into a thousand diamonds, filling the room with a suffocating cloud of roses.

Naomi didn’t fight back—she couldn’t risk hurting her employer and going to jail. Instead, she grabbed Theo from the chair.

“Get out!” Evelyn shrieked, grabbing at Naomi’s hair. “Give him to me!”

Naomi shoved Evelyn back, hard. Evelyn stumbled, her silk robe catching on the crib, and she fell onto the floor, landing amidst the broken glass and the spilled secrets of her addiction.

Naomi ran.

She ran out of the nursery, clutching the baby to her chest. She ran down the marble hallway, past the silent portraits of ancestors.

“Richard!” Naomi screamed at the top of her lungs. “Mr. Hartwell! Help!”

She reached the stairs just as the front door opened.

Richard Hartwell was standing there, his suitcase in hand. He had returned early from his business trip.

He looked up, seeing his housekeeper running down the stairs with his son, looking terrified, while his wife screamed incoherent obscenities from the top landing.

“Naomi?” Richard dropped his bag. “What is going on?”

Naomi reached the bottom of the stairs. She was panting, trembling. She held the baby out to him, turning Theo so Richard could see the back of the onesie, which she had left unbuttoned.

“Look at his back, sir,” Naomi choked out. “Just look at his back.”

Chapter 6: The Aftermath

The police arrived ten minutes later.

They found Evelyn in the nursery, trying to hide the flask and the journal, weeping hysterically.

Richard Hartwell sat on the living room sofa, holding Theo. He was a man who commanded boardrooms, but he looked broken. He had wept when he saw the marks. He had wept when Naomi showed him the flask she had managed to grab from the crib.

“I didn’t know,” Richard kept saying, rocking the baby. “She said she was tired. She said she was depressed. I didn’t know she was…”

“She needs help, sir,” Naomi said softly. She was sitting in the armchair opposite him, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. “But he needs safety.”

The officers brought Evelyn down. She was in handcuffs. She wasn’t screaming anymore. She looked small, defeated, and sick.