“The nanny was alone with him.”
“Are you sure she was alone?” I asked.
Megan was still staring through the glass, but at the question she turned sharply.
She hesitated.
That hesitation made my pulse jump.
Then she said quietly, “She brought her daughter once.”
I looked at her.
“Her daughter?”
“Yes.” Megan swallowed. “Last week. She said she couldn’t find childcare. It was only for one afternoon.”
“How old?”
“Four? Maybe five.”
I felt the pieces begin to shift in my mind, rearranging the whole room around them.
“Was the girl around Noah?”
Megan nodded slowly.
“She loved babies. She kept asking to hold him.”
“Did she ever?”
“No,” Megan said quickly. “We always said no.”
I held her gaze.
“Except maybe when no one was watching.”
No one answered.
The silence itself became confirmation.
Daniel ran one hand through his hair so hard it stood straight for a second before falling again.
“You think a little kid did this?”
Dr. Patel, who had been standing a respectful distance away giving us the illusion of privacy, stepped forward.
“It’s possible,” he said. “Young children often don’t understand how fragile infants are. Affection and force can blur for them if no one is supervising.”
Before anyone could answer, the nurse from earlier appeared at the doorway.
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