Chapter 3

Screams woke me.

Chloe' s screams.

They were sharper this time, laced with a new, more potent terror.

I sat up, my mind groggy. The bedroom door was open. Chloe was standing by the crib, pointing a trembling finger at me. David and Maria were behind her, their faces masks of theatrical horror.

"He killed her! Oh my god, he smothered her!"

I looked down at my hands, then at the couch where I' d been sleeping.

The baby girl was lying next to me.

She was still, her face pale. A faint, reddish mark, the size and shape of a handprint, was on her cheek. My handprint.

I hadn' t touched her. I had fallen asleep on the couch, alone. They put her there. They killed her and put her in my arms.

The police arrived in minutes. The neighbors were already outside, their phones out, filming the flashing lights and the drama unfolding in the brightly lit bedroom window.

"He was delusional," Chloe sobbed to the first officer on the scene. "He kept saying she wasn' t his baby, that he wanted a son. He was arguing with me all night."

David nodded grimly. "We were worried. He wasn' t himself. We even recorded a bit of it, just in case. We were scared he might hurt himself... or her."

He handed a phone to a detective. The officer played the video. It was me, from earlier, my voice strained and desperate. "Where is my son? This isn' t my baby!" The video was cleverly edited, making me look unhinged.

The detective looked from the video to me, then to the dead child. His expression hardened.

"Sir, I need you to come with me."

My heart pounded. It was happening again, but worse. Before, it was a tragic accident. Now, it was cold-blooded murder. My handprint on her face. My voice on video, ranting.

But this time, a cold, hard certainty settled in my gut. The confusion was gone. I was being framed. And I knew exactly who was doing it.

As the officers moved toward me, I held up a hand.

"Wait."

My voice was calm. It surprised even me.

"There' s something you need to see."