“What’s going on?” Michael demanded.
Victoria startled and tried to slide the jar behind her back.
“You’re home early,” she said tightly.
“What did you put on him?”
Michael lifted Ethan from the crib. The baby clung to his shirt with desperate strength. As Michael pressed him against his chest, he felt it.
Heat.
Not fever.
Burning.
He looked down.
Ethan’s arms, legs, behind his knees, the folds of his elbows, even under his diaper — his skin was bright red, inflamed, glossy. In some places, blisters were forming.
“This isn’t diaper rash,” Michael said, voice shaking. “This looks like a chemical burn. What did you use?”
“A cream,” Victoria replied, backing up. “For irritation.”
“Give it to me.”
The jar had no pharmacy label. Just masking tape with a word written in black marker:
Capsaicin.
Michael’s stomach dropped.
“That’s chili extract. That’s for adult muscle pain.”
“It’s diluted,” she snapped. “I thought it might—”
“You’re burning him!”
He grabbed the other tube.
Mustard oil.
His fear turned into something colder.
“Why?” he asked quietly. “Why would you do this?”
For a moment, she tried to hold her composure. Then it cracked — not into guilt, but frustration.