"Do I need to see it? I heard everything just now!"
"Heard from who?"
When he saw I was determined to get to the bottom of this, his patience snapped.
He turned it around on me. "Can you stop deflecting?"
"You're the one who brought Craig here. Now something's happened, and you have the nerve to point fingers at me?"
I shook my head, keeping my composure. "I'm not pointing fingers. Just curious."
The words barely left my mouth before my husband's palm cracked across my face.
"You heartless, selfish woman—all you care about is yourself!"
"No, your whole family's the same. You'll all rot for this!"
Fergus had already decided. In his mind, my family's negligence had killed our son.
The time, the place, the words—everything unfolded exactly as it had in my previous life.
Everything except one detail: the frozen infant wasn't Craig.
His every move struck me as wrong. Calculated.
Outside, neighbors crowded against the door, blocked from entering, demanding to know what had happened.
I ignored them and told Fergus I'd called the police.
First, we find the killer. Then we talk.
He said I was deflecting out of guilt.
That the killer was obviously me. What was there to argue about?
My parents loved Craig more than I did, if that was even possible.
They were always asking me to bring him over, desperate for every moment with their grandson.
When they learned he was gone, their grief rivaled mine.
But all my father could do was try to comfort Fergus. "Fergus, please—blame us. This has nothing to do with Deidre."
"If you need someone to be angry at, let it be us. We're the ones who failed you."
Fergus's response wasn't fury. It was a slow, cold smile as he looked at them.
His eyes had gone utterly dark.
"If you hadn't kept pressuring her to bring Craig here, would any of this have happened?"
"This is your fault. Every single one of you."
I couldn't take another second. "Are you done? If you're done, we wait for the police."
"And then what?" His voice cracked. "Will the police bring my Craig back?"
"He was only five months old! Give me back my son!"
Something about his performance was off. Deeply off.
From the day I gave birth to Craig until I brought him here today, Fergus had barely interacted with him. He'd held him maybe twice.
So why this theatric grief now? For a child he'd never seemed to want?
My father sighed heavily, guilt written across his face.
I wanted so badly to tell them: Craig isn't dead.
I sent him to my sister's place. He's probably napping right now, safe and warm.
But Fergus's behavior screamed that something was wrong. I needed to understand what.
When I looked back at Harold, I found him watching me.
That smile. Half-formed. Knowing.
Like a demon studying its prey.
A chill crawled down my spine.
I forced myself to stay calm.
"I think," I said, my voice steady, "you should step forward and admit what you did."
Harold immediately ducked behind his mother, his face a mask of fear.
But I knew it was an act.
In my previous life, their family had paid compensation. That was it. Not a single apology.
And this little monster? He'd faced no consequences whatsoever.
Life went on as usual. School. Playtime. As if nothing had happened.
The worst part? He'd claimed he put Craig in the freezer because he was copying something from TV.
I didn't care if that was true or not.
All I knew was that my Craig had died—and his real killer had walked free.
Margery pulled her son behind her, glaring at me with undisguised hostility.
She looked ready to lunge.
And Fergus? He took their side.
"Stop running from responsibility," he said.
I glanced toward the entrance and spotted Blake Chavez hobbling over with his cane.
A body cam hung from a lanyard around his neck—his family had bought it for him after he'd started getting forgetful. It tracked his location in real time and recorded everything around him.
I walked over. "Mr. Chavez, would you mind if I borrowed that for a moment?"
We were neighbors. Old Mr. Chavez didn't hesitate.
I carried the device back into the store. Fergus and Margery both stiffened, their brows creasing in unison.
It didn't take long. I scrubbed through the footage until I found it—Harold Lambert, walking into the convenience store with a baby in his arms.
