They carried the evidence away in marked bags.

The apartment felt lighter once the crib was gone.

I took a hammer and a crowbar from my toolbox.

I went into the nursery and broke down the wooden frame that remained.

I carried the pieces of wood down to the alley behind the building.

I threw them into the dumpster and slammed the metal lid.

My hands were shaking, but my heart felt steady.

Two weeks later, the formal charges were filed.

The state attorney’s office called us in for a meeting.

We sat in a gray conference room downtown.

The prosecutor was a young woman named Sarah Vance.

She had a thick stack of manila folders on the table.

“The lab results are back,” she said.

“The paint on the crib contained over forty percent lead.”

“The dust in your nursery had levels that could cause neurological damage.”

“And the tea?” I asked.

“It was laced with digitalis,” she said.

“An overdose of heart medication.”

“Your mother has a prescription for it.”

“She was microdosing your wife to induce labor or heart failure.”