“Leo,” Oscar warned.
The boy recoiled from his father’s tone.
Daniel saw the moment confusion became understanding.
Leo looked at the expensive watch his parents had given him for the cruise.
Then he looked at the cake near the center of the table, decorated with blue icing and a plastic baseball.
The cake in the refrigerator at home had the same frosting and the same plastic decoration.
“There were two cakes,” Leo said quietly.
Monica’s eyes closed for half a second.
Daniel had wondered about that.
The matching cake in Monica’s photograph had first seemed like another example of abundance withheld from Mia.
Now Leo’s words gave it a sharper meaning.
“My birthday isn’t until next month,” Leo continued.
“Mom said we were celebrating early because Mia always ruins things.”
Daniel turned toward Monica.
“What was the cake at home for?”
She said nothing.
Oscar stared at her.
“Monica?”
“It was just extra,” she snapped.
Daniel removed one final photograph from the folder.
It showed the cake inside the refrigerator before he cut the chain.
Written across the frosting in pink icing were the words Daniel had not been able to understand when he first opened the door.
The message was not for Leo.
It read, “Welcome Home, Mia.”
A small number nine candle lay unopened beside it.
Mia’s birthday was still four months away.
Daniel had asked her about the cake while they waited at the clinic.
She had stared at the floor and told him Monica sometimes made her stand in front of food she was forbidden to touch.
The cake had been part of a game Monica called practicing gratitude.
Mia was expected to thank her mother for providing things, then watch while those things were given to Leo or thrown away.
The investigator studied the photograph.
“Was this a regular form of punishment?”
Monica leaned forward.
“You are taking the word of an eight-year-old who has serious attention-seeking behavior.”
Daniel’s hand remained flat against the table.
“Mia asked my permission to drink water.”
“That proves nothing.”
“She asked permission to finish half an egg.”
“She’s dramatic.”
“She slept holding a bottle because she thought someone would take it away.”
Monica’s voice rose.
“Because she knew you would react like this.
She knows exactly how to make people feel sorry for her.”
The room had become completely silent.
Daniel looked at his son.
Oscar would not meet his eyes.
“Tell them,” Daniel said.
Oscar’s fingers trembled against the tablecloth.
“Tell them what you told yourself when you locked that door.”
“I didn’t lock it.”
“Did you know it was locked from the outside?”
Oscar looked at Monica.
That was answer enough, but Daniel waited.
Finally, Oscar whispered, “She said it was safer.”
“Did you know the power was off?”
“I thought it was only the kitchen breaker.”
