Chapter 5 - The Tides Turn
The vibrating phone on the bedside table buzzed again, cutting through the steady, rhythmic hum of Lily’s heart monitor.
I glanced down at the screen. The caller ID flashed a name I hadn't expected to see blinking at me with such frantic persistence: Patricia.
My mother.
I stared at the screen, letting it ring out until it went to voicemail. I had no desire to speak to her. Not after the way she had screamed at me, not after she defended Nicole’s monstrous behavior, and certainly not after she had dismissed my daughter’s life as an inconvenient interruption to a birthday party.
Ten seconds later, it started buzzing again.
Then came a text message notification. I picked up the phone, my thumb swiping across the screen to read the preview: Becca, please pick up. It's an emergency. Your sister... you need to come back. Please.
I scoffed out loud, a bitter, humorless sound that earned a brief, sleepy stir from Lily in the hospital bed. I stroked her curly auburn hair, whispering softly, "Go back to sleep, baby. Mom's right here."
Lily murmured something incoherent, snuggling deeper into the hospital pillow, her breathing deep and even.
I looked back down at the phone. Another text popped up, followed by a missed call notification. Then my phone rang a third time. Convinced that Patricia was simply calling to chew me out further for embarrassing Nicole in front of her friends, I finally swiped the answer button, my voice dripping with cold, exhausted venom.
"If you are calling to defend Nicole or tell me what a terrible daughter I am, save your breath," I snapped into the receiver before Patricia could even draw a breath. "My daughter was poisoned by your golden child, and she is currently recovering in a hospital bed. So unless you're calling to apologize—which we both know you're incapable of—lose my number."
For a second, there was complete silence on the other end of the line.
When Patricia finally spoke, the iron-clad authority and sharp venom in her voice were entirely gone. Instead, her voice sounded thin, fractured, and trembling with a frantic, desperate panic that made my skin crawl.
"Becca... please," Patricia sobbed, the sound of her crying hitting my ear like a foreign language. "You have to help us. You have to come back to the house right now."
"Are you out of your mind?" I hissed, gripping the phone tightly. "I am not coming back to that house. Stay away from us."
"Becca, listen to me!" Patricia wailed, her voice cracking into a high-pitched plea. "The police are here. They're arresting Nicole. They're talking about felony child abuse, reckless endangerment, and poisoning. They're going to take her away in handcuffs, Becca! Her life is over! Her career, her reputation, everything she's worked for—it's all gone!"
I froze. The anger in my chest momentarily gave way to sheer disbelief. "The police? Who called the police?"
"We didn't!" Patricia cried hysterically. "One of Nicole's friends' kids posted a video of the water-drinking contest on social media—they thought it was funny, they thought it was a challenge! Someone online saw it, realized Lily passed out, and called 911 anonymously. The precinct traced the IP address, and squad cars showed up ten minutes ago. They're searching the house, they're interrogating everyone, and they're arresting Nicole because she ran the game!"
A grim, dark satisfaction flickered in my chest, quickly replaced by reality. "Well, actions have consequences, Mom. Nicole is an adult. She played a stupid, sadistic game with a nine-year-old child, and now she gets to deal with the law."
"No, no, you don't understand!" Patricia shrieked, the sound of wailing coming from somewhere in the background of the call—likely Nicole herself having a total breakdown. "The detectives say that because you're the victim's mother and a medical professional who witnessed the immediate aftermath, your statement is the linchpin of the whole case! If you press charges and refuse to sign an affidavit saying it was just a misunderstanding, the district attorney is going to throw the book at her! They're talking five to ten years in prison!"
I listened in silence. Five to ten years. For almost killing my daughter.
"Good," I said quietly, my voice devoid of any warmth. "Maybe prison will teach her what empathy looks like."
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Before Patricia could scream another word, I hung up the phone and turned it off completely, plunging the hospital room into peaceful, unbroken silence.
I turned back to Lily, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. But little did I know, Patricia was not a woman who accepted defeat easily—and by the time the sun rose the next morning, my mother was going to take her desperation to a level I never could have imagined.
