Chapter 7 - Handcuffs in the Daylight
With Diane behind bars and the initial legal shockwaves settling into the rhythm of pretrial preparation, David and I turned our full attention back to where it mattered most: Emma.
The physical recovery was slower than we had hoped.
Dr. Stevens monitored her blood work weekly as the Haloperidol slowly cleared her system. For the first few days after stopping the drug, Emma suffered from intense withdrawal symptoms—irritability, difficulty sleeping, muscle tremors, and sudden bouts of crying where she would cling to my neck and refuse to let go.
“Mommy, am I still bad?” she asked me on a rainy Thursday night as I rocked her in the armchair of her bedroom.
My heart broke all over again.
“You were never bad, baby,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Never, ever bad. Grandma was sick, and she made a terrible mistake. But you are safe now. Nobody will ever give you medicine that isn't from the doctor again.”
“Can we lock the front door?” she asked quietly.
“We locked every door in the house,” I assured her. “And I have the keys.”
David spent every evening playing games with her on the living room floor, reading her favorite books twice over, and listening patiently whenever she wanted to talk. He had thrown himself into being a fully present, deeply attentive father, stripping away the workaholic distractions that had previously left openings for Diane to infiltrate our daily lives.
One evening, while Emma was asleep upstairs, David and I sat on the back porch watching the rain fall on the lawn.
“My sister called today,” David said quietly, staring down at his coffee mug.
I looked over at him. “Aunt Sarah?”
“Yeah.” He gave a bitter, humorless smile. “She heard about the arrest through some cousins. She wasn't surprised. Apparently, years ago, when we were teenagers, Mom used to tamper with our allergy medication or give us heavy sleep aids whenever she wanted us out of her hair during family parties. We always thought we were just naturally sleepy kids.”
I stared at him in horror. “David... she’s been doing this for decades?”
“Control is a habit,” David said softly. “She didn't start with Emma. Emma was just her newest project. And I let her walk right into our house and set up shop because I wanted an easy life.”
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“Stop beating yourself up,” I said, placing my hand over his. “We stopped her. That’s what matters.”
“We stopped her,” he repeated, nodding slowly. “And we’re never going back.”
