June pointed toward the kitchen sink. “I saw Grandma pour the pink stuff down the drain. She said the other bottle was better and that Mommy worries too much.”
Carol’s cloth froze in her hand.
I felt something inside me snap cleanly, like a rope under too much strain. I ran to the trash, hands shaking as I dug past coffee grounds and paper towels until I found it—the empty antibiotic bottle, cap still sticky, no trace of the medication inside.
The doctor moved fast then, all irritation gone. “Carol,” he said sharply, “what did you give the baby?”
“It was natural,” she said, her voice suddenly defensive. “An old family remedy. Plants. People survived just fine before pharmaceuticals.”
“What plants?” he demanded.
She hesitated.
I didn’t wait. I scooped Oliver up, grabbed my keys, and ran.
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