Chapter 8
“Tell her no,” Alexander said.
Ruiz watched him for a moment. “No direct conversation?”
“Not unless Lena asks for one, and not without you or another investigator present. She shouldn’t have to hear Margaret’s explanation just because Margaret wants to give it.”
“I’ll make that clear. Margaret can provide a statement through her attorney.”
Alexander nodded. The answer felt simple. The reasons behind it did not. He had once let Margaret’s authority speak for itself, and Lena had paid the price. He would not ask her to absorb another conversation for his convenience—or for the chance of getting an answer he wanted.
Ruiz made a note. “I’ll tell Margaret there will be no direct contact. We’ll continue to document her account and check it against the evidence.”
“And the boys?”
“We’ll follow up with the hospital. We don’t have new findings to give you.”
“Understood.”
Outside the station, Alexander stood beside his car with the cold air moving against his face. His phone buzzed with a work message. Then another. A call from Geneva appeared on the screen.
He declined it and called the hospital instead.
The twins were still under observation. The staff had no new results to report and no discharge decision. Alexander thanked the nurse, ended the call, and drove back.
Lena sat between Nico’s and Noah’s beds, one hand resting near each boy. She looked exhausted. When Alexander entered, she studied his face as if she could tell whether he had brought trouble with him.
“Margaret asked to speak with you,” he said. “I said no direct contact. If she has something to explain, she can give it to the investigators through her attorney.”
Lena’s shoulders loosened a little.
“Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t have to hear from her. Not unless you decide you want to, and even then, there should be safeguards.”
She glanced toward the boys. “I don’t want to talk to her.”
“Then you won’t.”
A quiet settled over the room. A monitor beeped softly near Noah’s bed. Nico shifted beneath his blanket but didn’t wake.
Alexander took the chair beside Lena. He had been carrying a question since the station, though he was afraid of what it might cost her to answer.
“There’s something else I want to tell you,” he said. “Only if you’re up for hearing it.”
Lena looked at him carefully. “What is it?”
“The letter from my wife.”
He explained what the note said: that she had worried about Margaret’s harshness with the babies and wanted to talk with him about removing Margaret from the nursery. It was written days before the accident. It described no specific injury, and it said nothing about the accident itself.
Lena’s eyes lowered.
“I don’t know what you remember,” Alexander continued. “And I don’t want you to feel like you need to connect things that may not be connected.”
“I remember Margaret talking about your wife,” Lena said after a pause. “Not the whole conversation. Just that she’d said Mrs. Caldwell didn’t like how she handled the babies.”
“Do you remember the exact words?”
“No.” Lena shook her head. “I think Margaret said she was being watched, or that someone was trying to take control away from her. It was a long time ago, and I wasn’t there for whatever happened between them. I can’t tell you what Mrs. Caldwell actually said.”
“Then we won’t pretend you can.”
“I don’t want to make anything worse by guessing.”
“You won’t. The investigators will write down what you remember—and what you don’t.”
Lena studied the boys. “I just wish I’d understood sooner how much she frightened them.”
Alexander followed her gaze. “You stayed when it would have been easier to leave.”
“I stayed because they needed someone.”
The plainness of it landed harder than any accusation. Alexander looked at his sons, so small in their hospital beds, and thought about all the days he’d believed that good care could be arranged with a call and a signature. The people who stayed had done what he had not.
A doctor came in to check the boys and speak with them both. There were still no new results. The twins remained under observation, and the staff would continue to monitor them. Alexander listened, asked the questions he needed to ask, and wrote down the instructions instead of promising himself he would remember.
When the doctor left, Lena moved through the familiar routine: checking Nico’s blanket, speaking softly to Noah, then washing her hands. Alexander watched her, trying not to mistake watching for helping.
“What can I do?” he asked.
“Could you change Nico? He’s starting to fuss.”
Alexander rolled up his sleeves. He had changed diapers before, but never enough to make it feel automatic. Nico protested as Alexander lifted him. His tiny face scrunched, his legs kicked, and the clean diaper slipped sideways on the first try.
Lena held out a wipe without comment.
“Thanks,” he said.
The second try was better. Nico stopped fussing when Alexander tucked the blanket around him and rested a hand gently over his small stomach.
“There,” Alexander whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He wasn’t sure whether the boy understood. He wanted the words to mean something anyway.
That evening, an assistant called twice. The first time, Alexander silenced the phone. The second time, he sent one message: I’m with my sons. Handle what you can without me. Call only if it’s urgent.
Then he put the phone in a drawer.
Noah woke for a feeding. Alexander helped prepare what the nurses had approved, then sat with him while Lena settled Nico. The hospital’s quiet hours began. Outside the room, footsteps passed now and then, and the twins stirred at unfamiliar sounds.
At one point, Alexander reached for Noah just as Lena did. He stopped and let her take the boy.
He was learning that being present did not mean being the first person to reach. It meant noticing what his children needed and making room for it—even when it reminded him how much trust had to be earned.
Lena held Noah against her shoulder and hummed under her breath. Noah’s fingers curled into her shirt.
Alexander sat beside Nico and watched the little boy sleep. He felt the old urge to fill the silence with a promise: that everything would be fine, that nothing bad would happen again. But he couldn’t promise what the doctors had not yet established, or what the investigation had not yet proved.
So he stayed.
A sudden thump sounded in the hallway.
May you like
Noah startled awake with a sharp cry. Lena turned toward him at once, and he reached for her, both arms outstretched.
Alexander rose from his chair, hands half-raised, unsure whether his son would reach for him too.
