Chapter 2
Andrew did not question Alex again that night.
Instead, he called Dr. Rachel Monroe, the child psychologist who had been working with Alex for nearly five months.
She arrived at Andrew’s Chestnut Hill home shortly before midnight.
Andrew remained downstairs.
He hated remaining downstairs.
That was precisely why Rachel insisted on it.
“If he tells me something,” she said, “I need to know it came from him, not from watching your face.”
Andrew nodded.
Lucinda had been sent to her own house under guard until Andrew decided what came next.
Marcus had left with an attorney.
Alex was upstairs with Rachel and the rabbit.
Forty minutes later, Rachel came down.
“He spoke.”
Andrew stood too quickly.
“What did he say?”
“Sit.”
He did.
Rachel opened her notebook.
Alex had not given a sophisticated account.
He was three.
His world consisted of simple images.
Mommy’s glass.
Green drops.
Aunt Lucy.
Uncle Marcus near the door.
Mommy sleepy.
Mommy angry.
A loud sound.
Then everyone running.
Andrew felt something cold beneath his ribs.
“Did he say he saw Lucinda pour something?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly?”
“He said, ‘Aunt Lucy put drops in Mommy drink.’”
Andrew looked away.
Rachel continued.
“That does not automatically tell us what the liquid was, why it was given, whether Alex understood what he saw, or whether it had anything to do with Elena’s death.”
Andrew knew that.
He hated that she needed to say it.
“He also told me something else.”
Andrew looked back.
“After Elena died, someone repeatedly told Alex that talking about that night would make you angry.”
Andrew stood.
“Who?”
Rachel closed the notebook.
“He identified Marcus.”
Andrew’s hands tightened.
“What did Marcus say to him?”
“Alex couldn’t repeat an exact sentence. He said Uncle Marcus told him Mommy was gone and Daddy would get sad if Alex made up stories.”
Andrew walked toward the window.
Marcus had been one of the first people to help after Elena died.
He had taken Andrew’s calls.
Handled funeral arrangements.
Moved foundation meetings.
Brought food to the house.
Sat beside Alex.
Andrew had been grateful.
Now gratitude turned sour in his stomach.
Rachel stood.
“There is something else you need to understand.”
“What?”
“Alex may have been silent because of grief. He may also have learned that silence made adults stop reacting.”
Andrew looked toward the stairs.
For months he had asked Alex to speak.
Doctors had asked.
Teachers had asked.
Lucinda had called him stubborn.
Marcus had told Andrew not to indulge him.
No one had asked whether silence was the safest choice the child thought he had.
Andrew’s voice dropped.
“What do I do?”
Rachel gave him an answer no one in the Caruso family had ever liked.
“Stop controlling the room.”
Upstairs, Alex had fallen asleep with the rabbit beneath his chin.
Andrew sat beside the bed but did not touch him.
The green ribbon rested on the nightstand.
Andrew stared at it.
Elena used to wear that ribbon around her wrist during archive events because Alex liked pulling at it as a baby.
After her funeral, someone had tied it around his rabbit.
Andrew had always assumed Elena had done it.
May you like
Now he was no longer sure.
And suddenly even the smallest details of the months before her death felt unreliable.
