“Who?” Landon asked. “Is this a joke?”

“This is not a joke,” Harris said. “I am standing in the neonatal intensive care unit at Presbyterian Hospital.”

“Your three-day-old son is currently hooked to an oxygen monitor because he was left in a hot house without food.”

There was a long pause on the line.

“That is impossible,” Landon said, his tone turning defensive. “My mother checked on them before we left.”

“She said Marissa was just being dramatic and sleeping.”

“Your mother locked the doors from the outside and took the baby’s formula,” I cried out, unable to hold back.

“Landon, our son almost died.”

“Marissa, shut up,” Landon snapped, his old arrogant tone returning.

“You are hysterical. You’ve been crying since we got home from the clinic.”

“Officer, my wife has severe postpartum depression. She is making all of this up to get attention.”

“We are on a family vacation that cost ten thousand dollars, and I am not letting her ruin it.”

Officer Harris’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscles pulsing.

“Mr. Bellamy, listen to me very carefully,” Harris said.