Chapter 4 - The Missing Formula
For two weeks, Marianne did not babysit.
Noah’s Tuesday sleepiness disappeared.
He napped normally, woke for bottles, and laughed when Emily returned from work.
Emily noticed the change.
So did Daniel.
Neither of them said it aloud.
Instead, they hired a college student named Tessa to watch Noah on Tuesdays. Tessa had infant first-aid training, excellent references, and a calm personality.
The arrangement worked until Tessa’s mother was hospitalized unexpectedly.
On Monday evening, Tessa called to say she needed to leave town.
Emily contacted three babysitters, but none were available on such short notice.
“I can cancel my meeting,” she said.
Daniel shook his head.
“You’re presenting the hotel project.”
“I’ll ask someone else to present.”
“You’ve worked on it for six months.”
“I’m not leaving Noah without someone I trust.”
Daniel hesitated.
“My mother is available.”
Emily gave him a hard look.
“No.”
“It’s been two weeks.”
“And Noah has been completely normal.”
“That doesn’t prove Mom did anything.”
“It proves the problem stopped when she stopped watching him.”
Daniel paced across the kitchen.
“What exactly do you think she did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we cannot accuse her.”
“I’m not accusing her. I’m refusing to leave our son with her.”
His phone rang.
It was Marianne.
Daniel had mentioned Tessa’s emergency earlier that day, and Marianne offered to help.
Emily listened as he declined politely.
Then Marianne asked to speak with her.
Daniel handed over the phone.
“I understand why you’re cautious,” Marianne said.
Emily did not expect the gentle tone.
“Do you?”
“I crossed boundaries. I thought being Daniel’s mother gave me the right to make decisions. It did not.”
Emily remained silent.
“I want to earn your trust,” Marianne continued. “You can prepare every bottle yourself. You can call every hour. I will not touch the camera. I will follow your schedule exactly.”
Emily looked at Daniel.
Hope appeared in his eyes.
That made the decision harder.
The next morning, Emily prepared five bottles and labeled each one with a time.
She counted the formula portions.
She photographed the bottles inside the refrigerator.
She checked the nursery camera twice before leaving.
Everything seemed normal.
At ten, Marianne fed Noah the first bottle.
At noon, she placed him in the crib for his nap.
At one, Emily checked the camera.
Noah was asleep.
At two, he was still asleep.
At two-thirty, Emily called.
“He’s been down for two and a half hours.”
“He had a busy morning.”
“Wake him for the next bottle.”
“I will.”
At three, the bottle marked 2:30 remained in the refrigerator.
Emily could see it through a kitchen camera Daniel had installed near the back door after a neighborhood burglary.
She called again.
Marianne did not answer.
Emily left the office.
When she reached home, Marianne was sitting in the living room reading a magazine.
Noah slept in a portable bassinet beside her.
“Why didn’t you answer?”
“My phone was on silent.”
“Why hasn’t he eaten?”
“He refused.”
Emily lifted Noah.
He opened his eyes briefly, then closed them.
On the kitchen counter sat an empty bottle.
Emily checked the refrigerator.
The 2:30 bottle was still there.
“Which bottle did you use?”
Marianne looked toward the counter.
“The one you prepared.”
“There should be four empty bottles if he followed the schedule. There are only three.”
“Perhaps you counted incorrectly.”
“I took a picture.”
For a moment, Marianne looked trapped.
Then she walked to the diaper bag and produced another empty bottle.
“This one was in the side pocket.”
Emily examined it.
A chalky line coated the bottom.
“What is this?”
“Formula residue.”
“It looks different.”
“All bottles look cloudy after use.”
Emily placed it in the sink but could not dismiss the feeling that something was wrong.
That night, she noticed an unopened formula container was lighter than it should have been.
She weighed it on the kitchen scale.
Nearly six ounces were missing.
Daniel suggested Marianne had spilled some.
May you like
Emily asked why she had not mentioned it.
Neither of them had an answer.
