He's three years old and he couldn't breathe, and you stood there in that hallway and watched."
For the first time, something moved across Evelyn's face.
Not guilt.
Not quite.
But something shifted.
"The inhaler was never in danger," she said.
"I had it.
I had it the entire time.
I would never have let anything happen to Noah."
"You let him struggle for air to make Maya look like she wasn't watching him."
Evelyn said nothing.
"That's what you did.
Isn't it."
Still nothing.
Ryan stepped back.
"Officer." He turned.
"She's not leaving."
---
At the hospital, Maya was sitting up when Ryan arrived.
There was a bandage above her left eye.
Her hands were in her lap.
She looked at him when he walked in and he could see she had been crying, but she wasn't crying now.
She was very still.
"Noah?" she said immediately.
"He's stable.
He's two floors up.
They got his breathing under control."
Maya closed her eyes.
Her shoulders dropped about two inches.
Ryan sat down in the chair beside her bed.
He didn't touch her yet.
He just sat.
"She took it," Maya said.
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
"I knew it." Her voice was flat.
Exhausted.
"I knew it and nobody believed me.
You didn't believe me."
Ryan looked at his hands.
"I know."
"I told you six months ago that something was wrong.
I told you she was going through our things.
I told you she looked at Noah differently when she thought I wasn't watching." Maya turned her head toward him.
"You told me I was being paranoid."
"I know."
"You told me she was just a worried grandmother."
"Maya—"
"I want to hear you say it." Her voice was quiet but it didn't move.
"I need to hear you actually say it."
Ryan looked up at her.
"You were right," he said.
"You were right about all of it.
And I didn't listen.
And I am sorry."
Maya held his gaze for a long moment.
Then she looked away toward the window.
"How bad is it?" she asked.
"What did they find?"
"Cameras in the nursery and our bedroom.