Emily’s hands shook as she pulled her phone from her apron and took photos.
The mattress.
The maggots.
Oliver’s injuries.
Then she lifted him, holding him tightly against her chest.
“No more,” she sobbed. “No more.”
She turned toward the door—
And froze.
Margaret stood there, pale in the dim light.
And in that instant, Emily understood something that made her blood run cold.
Margaret knew.
“Put my son down,” Margaret said, her voice flat.
“This mattress is full of maggots,” Emily cried. “It’s rotting! He’s been in pain this whole time!”
“I said put him down.”
“He’s covered in bites!”
“That’s a $1,500 organic mattress,” Margaret snapped. “We bought it new.”
“When?” Emily demanded.
Silence.
“You didn’t,” Emily said slowly. “You bought it used.”
Richard Caldwell stepped into the doorway. “It was a good deal. A friend—”
“A BABY slept on THIS,” Emily shouted. “Because you wanted to save money?”
“You’re the maid,” Margaret hissed. “Watch your tone.”
“No,” Emily said, steady now. “I’m the only one protecting this child.”
She walked past them.
“If you stop me,” she said quietly, “these photos go to CPS tonight.”
Emily took Oliver to her tiny staff room.
It wasn’t fancy—but it was clean.