She didn’t walk in casually like someone passing through. She glanced toward the back door, checked the window, then carefully looked down the hallway.
After that, she walked directly to the large tray of blackberry cobbler. From her jacket pocket, she removed a small dark glass bottle, uncapped it, and carefully dripped several drops of liquid into the syrup.
She picked up a spoon and slowly stirred everything together with an eerie sense of calm.
My entire body went completely numb.
Brandon rewound the recording and watched it again.
Then he replayed it a second time.
When it reached the same moment for the third viewing, he abruptly stood up and slammed his fist into the hospital wall with all his strength.
“She’s completely lost her mind, Mary. My own mother has completely lost her mind,” he said through clenched teeth.
I could no longer cry.
I could barely breathe.
All I could see was her hand calmly stirring poison into the dessert my innocent little boy had eaten.
A doctor finally stepped out of the treatment room and told us Luke was temporarily out of immediate danger.
“He’ll need to stay under close observation until we determine exactly what substance he consumed,” the doctor explained.
I sank onto the bench, overwhelmed by tears born from equal parts unimaginable relief and absolute horror.
Brandon buried his face in both of his hands.
“To her, Luke was never really her grandson,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of an old wound that had never healed.
I stared at him in complete disbelief. “What are you talking about, Brandon?”
It took him several long moments before he could finally answer.
