At 1:17:
Charlotte, this is not the time to be emotional.
At 1:26:
We have already paid the deposit.
At 1:31:
Garrett says you are confused because of the medication.
That was the message that frightened me.
Not because I believed him.
Because my parents did.
Garrett had reached them before dawn. He was already building the version of events he intended everyone to accept.
I had fallen.
I was medicated.
I was unstable.
I was punishing my parents over a misunderstanding.
It was the same pattern he had used for years. First, he controlled what happened. Then he controlled how it was remembered.
At 2:10 a.m., a uniformed officer entered the room with a plainclothes detective.
The detective introduced herself as Mara Ruiz. She was in her early forties, with tired eyes and a calmness that felt practiced rather than natural.
“Mrs. Andrews,” she said, pulling a chair closer to the bed, “I know you’ve already spoken briefly with officers. I’m going to ask a few more questions, but we can stop whenever you need.”
