Chapter 2 - The Toxicology Report
The emergency room waiting area was a sterile, blindingly white purgatory.
David held my bruised, unwashed hands in his, refusing to let go for even a single second.
Two hours had passed since the paramedics rushed Maya through the double doors of the trauma unit.
Two hours of agonizing, suffocating silence.
My phone buzzed incessantly with text messages from my mother.
She wasn't asking if her granddaughter was alive.
She was demanding to know if we were going to release a statement to the country club to explain the police presence.
I blocked her number without a second thought.
Finally, a doctor in blue scrubs pushed through the swinging doors, his face grim and exhausted.
"Are you the parents of Maya?" he asked, looking between David and me.
"I am her mother," I said, springing to my feet so fast the plastic chair crashed to the floor.
"Is she alive?" David asked, his voice shaking for the first time all morning.
The doctor nodded slowly, offering a tiny, reassuring smile.
"She is alive, and we have successfully stabilized her breathing."
"However, she is currently in a medically induced coma to protect her brain while her body processes the toxins."
"Toxins?" I repeated, the word tasting like ash in my mouth.
"What exactly was in my daughter's system?"
The doctor looked at his clipboard, his expression hardening into professional anger.
"We ran a full toxicology screen on her blood."
"Your five-year-old daughter ingested a massive, near-lethal dose of Lorazepam."
"It is a heavy, prescription-only anti-anxiety medication."
"Given her body weight, there is absolutely no way she could have swallowed that much by accident without noticing the bitter taste."
"Someone crushed those pills and disguised them in a sweet liquid."
My blood ran ice cold.
Lorazepam.
My mother had been taking prescribed Lorazepam for her "social nerves" for the past ten years.
She kept the orange pill bottles lined up in her pristine, alphabetical medicine cabinet.
"Doctor, you need to call the police stationed outside this hospital," David said, his jaw locked in fury.
"We know exactly who gave her those pills."
Before the doctor could page security, two detectives in plain suits walked into the waiting room.
"Ma'am, we need to speak with you," the older detective said, holding up a clear evidence bag.
Inside the bag was Maya's favorite pink plastic sippy cup.
"Our crime scene technicians found this buried at the very bottom of your mother's kitchen trash can," the detective explained.
"There is a thick white residue coating the inside of the straw."
"Your mother claims you prepared this cup for Maya last night."
I stared at the plastic cup, feeling a wave of nausea wash over me.
"I didn't give her that cup," I whispered, tears finally spilling down my cheeks.
"My sister Chloe offered to make Maya some warm milk before bed."
"Chloe said she wanted to do something nice for Maya's birthday."
The detectives exchanged a heavy, knowing look.
May you like
"We are heading back to the estate right now to execute a full search warrant," the detective said.
"Nobody in that house is above the law, no matter how much money they have."
