David stood there perfectly still, his face unreadable.
He didn’t look at our screaming son in my arms. He didn’t even glance at Jacob’s burned, blistering skin.
His eyes were locked on the nanny.
“David,” I said, my voice cracking. “Do you see what she did? She poured hot soup on Jacob!”
He took a slow breath and finally looked at me. His expression was calm—too calm.
“Put the phone down, Elena,” he said quietly.
I stared at him, certain I had misheard.
“Put it down?” I repeated. “She hurt our son! We have to call the police!”
He stepped closer, his voice dropping low, like he was soothing a spooked animal.
“It was an accident. The bowl slipped. Maria feels terrible.”
Maria—the nanny—nodded quickly, tears spilling over.
“Yes, an accident! I am so sorry! I didn’t mean—”
“Liar!” I cut her off, clutching Jacob tighter. “I saw you slap him first! I saw you tip that bowl on purpose!”
David reached out and gripped my upper arm. His fingers dug in, hard.
“Lower your voice,” he warned. “You’re upset. You’re not thinking clearly.”
I wrenched my arm away, shock warring with horror.
“Why are you defending her?” I demanded. “She said I wasn’t supposed to be home! David—why?”
His jaw tightened. For a split second I saw something flash in his eyes. Guilt? Fear?
Then he smoothed his face back into that terrible, placid mask.
“She’s overworked. That’s all. Go take Jacob upstairs. I’ll handle… everything here.”
I hesitated. Every instinct screamed that something was very, very wrong.
“Come with us,” I said. “Come see the burns. Hold your son.”
David glanced toward the hallway again—just for a second.
Then he looked back at me, and his voice turned cold.
“I can’t right now. Do as I say, Elena. Go upstairs.”
I stood there, heart hammering.
He had never spoken to me like that. Not once in our entire marriage.
I backed toward the stairs, carrying Jacob, his sobs finally softening into quiet whimpers against my shoulder.
“David,” I said one last time. “Come with us. Please.”
He didn’t answer.
He was already turning back to Maria. Leaning close. Speaking in a whisper I could not hear.
And then—clear as day—I saw Maria nod.
And glance quickly at the closed door of David’s study.
I carried Jacob up the stairs, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped him.
I locked the bathroom door behind us and turned on the shower to cool his burns.
As the water ran, I stared at my reflection in the mirror. Pale face, wild eyes.
Why was David protecting her?
What was in that study?
And then I heard it.
A soft, deliberate click.
From inside my own bedroom.
Someone had locked the door from the outside.
