Chapter 2 - Thirty-Seven MinutesNobody moved.
The recording continued playing from Melissa’s phone, but for several seconds I couldn’t process anything after those six words.
Let’s see how long he lasts.
My father finally reacted.
He snatched the phone from my hand.
“Turn that off.”
“No!”
I tried to take it back.
Dad held it above my reach.
“Caroline, enough.”
“Enough?”
My voice shook.
“You heard what she said.”
Melissa stood beside him, pale but strangely composed.
“It’s not what it sounds like.”
Grandma Ruth gave a disbelieving laugh.
“What exactly does putting a newborn in a jar sound like, Melissa?”
“I was making a video.”
“For what?”
Melissa didn’t answer.
I looked at Dad.
“Give me the phone.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“We need to calm down.”
That phrase had governed my entire childhood.
Calm down.
When my mother discovered Dad’s first affair: calm down.
When he missed my high-school graduation because he was “stuck at work”: calm down.
When Mom died and he sold our family home six months later without telling me: calm down.
To Daniel Mercer, calmness wasn’t maturity.
It was obedience.
And suddenly I realized he wasn’t trying to understand what had happened.
He was trying to control who learned about it.
I pulled out my own phone.
“What are you doing?” Dad asked.
“Calling 911.”
Melissa lunged.
Dad caught her arm.
“Don’t.”
She stared at him.
For a split second, something passed between them.
Fear.
Not the fear of someone falsely accused.
The fear of someone whose secret had just become evidence.
Dad turned toward me.
“Caroline, think carefully.”
“I am.”
“Noah wasn’t injured.”
Grandma shouted, “He was trapped in a glass jar!”
“He’s breathing.”
“That’s your standard?”
Dad’s jaw tightened.
“You call the police, Child Protective Services gets involved. They could take Noah away.”
I paused.
That was precisely what needed to happen if my father thought this was normal.
Grandma Ruth seemed to read my mind.
“Maybe somebody should take him away.”
Dad glared at her.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I raised three children.”
“And you hit Melissa.”
“After she attacked me.”
Melissa’s hand rose dramatically toward her cheek.
“I have a mark.”
Grandma pointed toward the blood running from her forehead.
“And I have a hole in my head.”
I dialed.
Dad grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t.”
I stared at his hand around me.
“Take your hand off.”
“Caroline—”
“Now.”
He released me.
I called.
The dispatcher answered immediately.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“My newborn brother may have been intentionally endangered, and my grandmother has been assaulted.”
Melissa whispered, “You stupid bitch.”
Dad heard it.
So did I.
And, judging by the silence through my phone, the dispatcher probably did too.
I gave the address.
Melissa moved toward the front door.
Grandma said, “Don’t let her leave.”
Dad stepped between them.
“Nobody is imprisoning anybody.”
“I’m not imprisoning her,” Grandma said. “I’m saying maybe she shouldn’t disappear with the evidence.”
Melissa looked down.
The phone was still in Dad’s hand.
She suddenly grabbed it.
Dad wasn’t expecting that.
Neither was I.
She sprinted toward the kitchen.
“Melissa!”
I followed.
By the time I entered, she was standing at the sink.
The phone was under running water.
“What are you doing?”
I grabbed for it.
She threw it onto the tile floor.
Then stomped.
Once.
Twice.
The screen shattered.
Grandma appeared behind me with Noah.
“Oh, you idiot,” she whispered.
Melissa looked up.
“What?”
Grandma gave her a grim smile.
“You just destroyed evidence during a 911 call.”
Melissa’s eyes widened.
The dispatcher was still connected through my phone.
Police arrived nine minutes later.
Those nine minutes felt longer than the previous thirty-seven.
Two officers entered first, followed by paramedics.
Officer Mason, a tall woman with gray at her temples, took one look at Noah and immediately asked who was responsible for him.
“My son,” Dad said.
“We’ll need everyone separated.”
Paramedics examined Grandma.
Another checked Noah.
Melissa suddenly transformed.
She became soft-spoken.
Fragile.
Confused.
“I think this has all been blown out of proportion.”
Officer Mason looked at the shattered phone.
“How did that happen?”
Melissa said nothing.
Dad stepped forward.
“It slipped.”
My heart stopped.
Officer Mason turned slowly toward him.
“It slipped?”
Dad nodded.
I stared at my father.
He was lying.
Not about some forgotten appointment.
Not about money.
He was lying to police to protect a woman who had put his newborn son in a container and filmed it.
That realization hurt more than I expected.
“Actually,” I said, “she stomped on it.”
Dad’s face hardened.
“Caroline.”
Officer Mason held up a hand.
“Sir, don’t address her right now.”
The officer looked at me.
“What was on the phone?”
“A video.”
“Of?”
“Melissa putting Noah inside the jar.”
Officer Mason’s expression changed.
“Did you watch it?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
I swallowed.
“Before putting him inside, she looked at the camera and said, ‘Let’s see how long he lasts.’”
The room went silent.
Melissa laughed nervously.
“That was sarcasm.”
Officer Mason didn’t smile.
“Why were you filming?”
“I make parenting videos.”
I blinked.
“Since when?”
She ignored me.
“I have a small social account.”
Officer Mason glanced toward the broken phone.
“What kind of parenting video involves placing a newborn inside glass?”
“It was supposed to be funny.”
Grandma Ruth started crying.
Not loudly.
She simply looked down at Noah and cried.
That did something to Dad.
For the first time, his expression cracked.
He looked at his son.
At the tiny blue blanket.
At Grandma’s blood.
Maybe reality was finally reaching him.
Then Melissa said, “Daniel, tell them.”
Dad looked at her.
“Tell them what?”
“That Noah was never in danger.”
Another silence.
Officer Mason turned.
“Mr. Mercer, how would you know that? Were you present?”
Dad froze.
Melissa froze too.
I stared at him.
He had walked in after us.
He had acted like he knew nothing.
But Melissa had just exposed something.
Officer Mason noticed.
“So,” she said carefully, “were you here when the baby was placed inside the container?”
“No.”
“Then what exactly are you supposed to tell us?”
Dad rubbed the back of his neck.
“I meant based on what I see now.”
But his voice had changed.
I knew my father.
That was his lying voice.
Officer Mason knew it too.
She motioned for her partner.
“Separate Mr. Mercer as well.”
Melissa suddenly shouted, “This is ridiculous!”
The baby startled.
Officer Mason turned sharply.
“Ma’am, lower your voice.”
“I’m his mother!”
Everything stopped.
Dad looked at Melissa.
Grandma looked at Dad.
I looked at the birthmark beneath Noah’s left ear.
And remembered the conversation three weeks earlier.
Dad had specifically told me Melissa wasn’t Noah’s biological mother.
He said Noah’s mother had been a short relationship, someone who wanted no involvement after the birth.
Melissa had supposedly agreed to help Dad raise him.
I looked at my father.
“Dad.”
His eyes avoided mine.
“Why did she just call herself his mother?”
Melissa immediately answered.
“Because I’m raising him.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“That isn’t what you meant.”
Dad said, “Caroline, don’t start.”
“When Noah was born, you said his mother was named Rachel.”
Grandma looked sharply at him.
“Rachel?”
Dad went white.
I continued.
“You told me Rachel signed temporary guardianship papers.”
Officer Mason looked interested.
“Where is Rachel now?”
Dad said nothing.
Melissa crossed her arms.
“She left.”
“When?” Officer Mason asked.
“After the hospital.”
“Where did she go?”
Nobody answered.
The paramedic holding Noah looked toward Officer Mason.
“Officer?”
“Yes?”
The paramedic’s expression was serious.
“We need to transport the infant for evaluation.”
Dad stepped forward.
“I’ll go.”
Officer Mason stopped him.
“Not yet.”
“That’s my son.”
“We haven’t established who is leaving with the baby.”
Dad’s face turned red.
“This is insane.”
Then Grandma whispered something.
“Caroline.”
I looked at her.
She was staring toward a shelf near the buffet.
“What?”
“The baby monitor.”
A camera sat tucked between two framed photographs.
Its small green light was blinking.
My father followed her gaze.
And the blood drained from his face.
I walked toward it.
Dad moved quickly.
“Don’t touch that.”
I stopped.
Officer Mason noticed.
“Why not?”
Dad didn’t answer.
She stepped toward the monitor herself.
“Does that camera record?”
Nobody spoke.
“Mr. Mercer?”
Finally Dad whispered, “Sometimes.”
The officer examined the device.
“Cloud storage?”
My father closed his eyes.
And I knew.
Melissa’s smashed phone wasn’t the only recording.
The dining-room camera had seen everything.
Possibly not just today.
Officer Mason turned to her partner.
“Secure the camera. And get a warrant request started for the cloud account.”
Melissa began shaking.
Dad sank into a dining chair.
And Grandma Ruth hugged Noah tighter.
But the most frightening part came twenty minutes later, when one of the officers asked Dad for the name of Noah’s pediatrician.
Dad couldn’t provide one.
Then they asked for Noah’s birth certificate.
He couldn’t find that either.
And when they asked which hospital Noah had been born at, Melissa and Dad gave two different answers.
That was when Officer Mason stopped treating the scene like a terrible parenting incident.
She called her supervisor.
Because the question was no longer simply what Melissa had done to Noah.
The question became something much bigger.
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