“Officers are inside.”
The operator’s words were almost inaudible, but they changed the air inside the bathroom.
I tightened my arm around Ethan and stared at the lock as it turned from the hallway side.
Michael had found the small emergency release built into the knob.
A thin piece of metal scraped inside it.
The woman stood behind him, breathing too quickly.
“We have to go,” she whispered.
Michael ignored her.
The lock clicked.
He pushed the door open three inches before my weight stopped it.
His face appeared in the narrow gap.
The calm mask he had worn at dinner was gone.
Sweat shone across his forehead, and his jaw was clenched so hard that a muscle jumped near his cheek.
Behind him, the woman gripped the handle of the suitcase with both hands.
Michael looked down and saw Ethan lying against me.
For one second, something like uncertainty passed across his face.
Then he shoved the door harder.
“Move, Lily.”
I pressed my feet against the base of the sink and held the door with everything I had left.
“You poisoned your own son,” I said.
“I gave him enough to sleep.”
The woman made a strangled sound.
Michael glanced back at her, realizing too late what he had admitted.
That was when a voice thundered from the hallway.
“Michael Parker, step away from the door.”
Michael froze.
The woman released the suitcase.
It hit the floor and tipped onto its side.
Two officers came around the corner with their weapons lowered but ready.
Another moved toward the woman and ordered her to show her hands.
Michael raised his palms slowly.
“This is a misunderstanding,” he said.
The officer nearest him looked at the splintered bathroom frame, the metal tool in Michael’s hand, and Ethan’s motionless body behind the door.
“No,” the officer said.
“It isn’t.”
Michael tried to turn toward me.
An officer pulled him back, forced his arms behind him, and secured his wrists.
The woman began talking immediately.
“I didn’t cook anything.
I just got here.
He told me they were leaving.”
Michael looked at her with open hatred.
“Be quiet.”
“I didn’t know about the kid,” she insisted.
“You brought the suitcase,” I said.
Her eyes met mine.
She had no answer.
Paramedics rushed into the hallway.
I moved away from the door, but when I tried to stand, my knees folded beneath me.
One paramedic caught my shoulder while another knelt beside Ethan.
They checked his pulse, fitted oxygen over his face, and lifted him onto a stretcher.
His eyelids fluttered, but he did not speak.
I clung to the side rail as they carried him out.
Michael stood against the wall in handcuffs.
He watched us pass without apologizing.
Instead, he said, “Lily, don’t tell them anything until I explain.”
