Derek stood stunned, eyes widening. He shook his head violently, as if trying to dislodge my accusation.
"Sarah, you're hysterical! Don't spout such nonsense!"
But the panic in his eyes betrayed him.
Margaret reacted first. She marched into the kitchen and returned brandishing a knife. The blade caught the light as she pointed it at me.
"Are you signing or not? If you sign, this nightmare ends. If you don't..."
Her eyes dropped to my hand on the table.
Phantom pain shot through me. In my previous life, I'd refused. This woman had pinned me down and chopped off two of my fingers. Later, they told the police I'd had a psychotic break and mutilated myself.
Every person in this room had testified against me.
This time, I didn't fight. I gave a stiff nod.
"I'll sign."
As the ink dried, relief swept through the living room. Derek walked over and patted my shoulder, a satisfied smile on his lips.
"Good. It's done. Go clean yourself up. We need to handle the child first."
Handle. He spoke of the body like a dead fish rotting on the counter.
My eyes drifted toward the window again.
"I want to see him..."
I stepped toward the door.
Derek moved instantly, his arm shooting out to block my path.
"Don't look."
His voice dropped to a whisper. "It'll only make it harder. Let Diana and the others take care of it. She's a nurse—she has experience with these things."
Has experience.
Bile rose in my throat.
I looked up at him, feigning fragility. "We can call the police now, right? The child is dead... we have to report it."
Derek's expression stiffened. He draped his arm around my shoulders, guiding me back to the sofa.
"Sarah, didn't you just sign the waiver? This was a tragic accident. We can handle it internally. Why drag the police into our grief? Why let the whole world watch us suffer?"
He paused, letting the silence stretch before dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"You're the beneficiary of Ethan's accident insurance, aren't you?"
My heart skipped a beat.
In my past life, this conversation never happened. Back then, I had been hysterical, screaming for the police while they scrambled to subdue me and sanitize the crime scene. But now, faced with my eerie calm, Derek prioritized his greed.
I studied his face, inches from mine. The grief was gone, replaced by cold calculation.
"Yes," I said, nodding slowly. "I'm his mother. Who else would it be?"