Chapter 7 - The Evidence Hidden in the Diaper Bag
I forced my trembling hands to still. The betrayal tasted like copper in my mouth, but I swallowed it down. If I was going to survive this, I couldn't fight them on their turf. I had to get them to let their guard down.
"You're right," I said, my voice sounding unnaturally calm, like a stranger's. "I can't handle both. I'm exhausted. I'm barely holding it together."
Diane’s eyes sharpened, the predatory gleam returning. Mark shifted his weight, looking relieved, the tension in his shoulders finally dropping. I had them. They thought they had broken me.
"Just give me my bag," I continued, holding out a hand. "My phone is dead. I need my charger. Please. Just let me get my things so we can get this over with."
Karen stepped forward, her expression bored. She grabbed the diaper bag from the chair and tossed it to me. It landed on the bed with a soft thud.
I opened it, my fingers brushing against the cold plastic of the voice recorder hidden at the bottom. I didn't activate it yet. I needed to get closer. I needed to get them talking.
"Go ahead," Mark said, crossing his arms. "Get your charger. Then we can sign the papers."
I zipped the bag open, pretending to rummage through the contents. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Get them talking, I thought. Say something stupid.
"We should probably do this in the living room," Diane said, checking her watch. "The twins need to be settled before the transport arrives."
"The car is waiting outside," Karen added, her voice sharp with impatience. "We don't have all day."
Mark nodded. "Yeah, Mom. Let's go."
I stood up, clutching the bag tight. I needed to stall. I needed a reason not to leave the room yet. I looked down at Grace, who was gurgling happily in her bassinet, her thumb in her mouth.
"Wait," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "I need to change Grace. She’s soaked. I can't put a fresh diaper on her and leave her in the car. Please."
Diane sighed, a long, suffering sound. "Mark, stay here with her. We'll handle the logistics. Karen, go get the car."
Mark hesitated, looking at me with a mixture of pity and relief. "Okay. I'll stay. Just... hurry up, Sarah."
I turned my back to them, grabbing the changing mat. I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart racing. I reached into the deep pocket of the diaper bag. My fingers brushed the recorder. I pressed the button. A tiny, almost imperceptible red light glowed, then faded as the battery was too weak to sustain a constant charge. It was recording, but barely.
I started to unbutton Grace’s onesie, my movements slow and deliberate. Behind me, I heard the rustle of plastic bags and the heavy thud of shoes.
"You're sure about the will?" Mark’s voice drifted back, low and urgent. "She’s going to contest it. She knows about the trust fund."
"I handled that," Diane’s voice replied, cold and smooth. "I met with her lawyer last week. She signed a new agreement voluntarily. She thinks she’s giving us guardianship of Leo. She doesn't know about Grace."
"Good," Mark said. "And the house? The insurance policy?"
"The house is in both our names," Diane said. "But the mortgage is underwater. She can't afford it on her own. She’ll be forced to sell, and we get a percentage. The twins are just... insurance."
*Insurance,* the word echoed in my mind. They didn't love them. They didn't see them as children. They saw them as assets. I tightened my grip on the recorder, my thumb hovering over the stop button, but I couldn't interrupt. I needed to hear everything.
"Karen is going to take Leo to the airport," Diane continued. "Mark, you take Grace. We'll meet at the house."
"Okay," Mark said. "I just wish... I just wish she didn't have to know. She looks so broken right now."
"She's resilient," Diane said. "But she's weak. She won't fight us once she realizes she's alone. Now, go. Karen is waiting."
I froze. She’s alone. The realization hit me like a physical blow. They were already separating them.
"I'm done," I said, my voice steady again.
I turned around, standing up and holding Grace. Mark stepped forward to take her, but I held her back. I looked at Mark, and I looked at Diane, and I looked at the diaper bag clutched to my chest.
"I'm ready to go," I lied.
As I stepped toward the door, Karen moved to intercept me. She was too close. Too fast. She reached out, her hand brushing against the bag, and her elbow clipped the side of it with a hard, jarring impact.
The diaper bag slid off the edge of the bed. It skittered across the linoleum, spinning wildly, and hit the metal leg of the hospital bed. It landed on the floor with a heavy thud.
The silence in the room was absolute.
I stared at the bag, my breath catching. Mark looked down at it, then back at me. Diane’s eyes narrowed.
Then, I saw it. I saw Diane’s foot move. She didn't walk over. She stomped. She brought her heel down hard onto the bag, right where the recorder was buried inside.
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There was a sickening crunch of plastic and glass. A red light flickered and died instantly.
Diane lifted her foot. The diaper bag was a mangled mess of crushed plastic, the recorder’s casing shattered, the lens spiderwebbed. She looked at the ruined device, then up at me, a terrifying smile playing on her lips.
