“This is Detective Harris, interviewing Hannah Parker at City General Hospital,” he said.

He looked up at me with a calm, patient expression.

“Hannah, in your own words, please describe what happened at the residence on Pine Street over the last three weeks.”

I took a deep breath, the sterile smell of the hospital filling my lungs.

“It started after I brought Owen home from the hospital,” I began.

“My husband’s mother, Patricia, moved into the house under the guise of helping me.”

Harris nodded, his pen hovering over his notepad.

“But she didn’t help,” I said. “She took control of everything.”

“Did she restrict your movement?” Harris asked.

“Yes,” I said. “She took my phone. She told me I was too weak to handle the baby.”

I looked down at my hands, which were still trembling slightly.

“And then there was the medication,” I said.

“What medication?”

“My post-operative pain medication and the blood pressure pills the doctor prescribed,” I explained.

“Patricia took the bottles from my nightstand.”

“Did she give them to you on a schedule?” Harris asked.