She looked entirely out of place among the stretchers and the exhaust fumes.

“She followed us,” I said, my chest tightening.

“Sir, stay back and let us move the patient,” an EMT yelled, pushing past me.

They wheeled Megan out of the ambulance, her head thrashing from side to side.

I jumped down from the metal step, my boots hitting the wet asphalt.

One of the police officers, a tall man with a thick mustache, stepped in front of my mother.

“Is this the woman who broke into your apartment?” the officer called out to me.

“Yes,” I shouted, pointing at her. “That’s her. She poisoned the nursery.”

My mother did not flinch.

She stood perfectly still, her hands folded over her designer purse.

“Don’t be dramatic, Jake,” she said, her voice carrying over the sound of the idling engines.

“I am his mother,” she told the officer. “I have a right to be here for my grandchild.”

“Ma’am, step back,” the officer said, his hand resting on his utility belt.

“He is hysterical,” she said, pointing a manicured finger at me.