“She told me she didn’t touch it.”
Martha took a step closer to me, her hand resting on the wooden railing of the crib. Her expression shifted, the sweetness replacing itself with a sudden, sharp coldness that made the room feel smaller.
“If you do not trust me in this house, Daniel, I do not have to stay.”
I cleared my throat, the nervous habit dry in my throat. I looked down at the carpet, feeling the familiar weight of her disapproval pressing on my shoulders.
“That is not what I meant, Mother. I am just trying to find the cord.”
She nodded once, her pearls settling back against her collarbone with a soft click.
“Good. Because a new mother needs all the help she can get, even if she does not have the strength to realize it.”
She turned back to the crib, her fingers smoothing out a tiny wrinkle in the cotton sheet that only she could see.
“I brought over some of that chamomile tea,” she added, not looking at me. “It helps with the nerves.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
