Chapter 2

Scarlett had Sophie cradled in one arm, a glass of whiskey in the other, tilting the rim toward the baby's tiny mouth.

"Come on, sweetie! Have a taste of the good stuff!"

"Gotta start 'em young!"

Garrett's buddies were cheering and hollering around them, egging her on.

The amber liquid sloshed over the rim and dripped into my daughter's crying mouth. The burn hit instantly -- Sophie's wail turned into a terrified, ragged shriek, her little limbs thrashing inside the swaddle.

Scarlett just laughed, clamping the baby tighter with her arm as her wrist tipped the glass further down.

"What are you doing?!"

I slapped her hand away with everything I had.

The glass flew from her grip and shattered on the floor.

I snatched Sophie into my arms. She was choking and gagging against my chest.

"Shh, baby, Mommy's here..."

I patted her back gently. My fingers came away damp and cold -- Scarlett had squeezed her so hard the diaper had burst.

Garrett walked in right behind me, just in time to see me wrench the baby from Scarlett's arms, sending her stumbling backward onto the floor.

His first instinct was to rush to Scarlett. He grabbed her arm, pulling her up, while shouting at me:

"Vivian, what the hell is wrong with you? Why are you attacking Scarlett?"

He didn't even glance at our daughter, who was crying so hard she could barely breathe.

I held Sophie tight, my eyes like ice.

"Garrett, why don't you ask her what she was doing?"

"Feeding hard liquor to a three-month-old baby -- you could have killed her!"

Garrett froze. His gaze swept over the puddle of whiskey on the floor, and his expression stiffened for a moment.

But Scarlett was already rubbing her arm, her face a picture of wounded innocence.

"Vivian, come on. My grandpa used to put whiskey on our gums when we were teething. It's not a big deal."

"Toughens them up! I was just giving my little niece some grit!"

I was shaking with rage. I pulled out my phone. "Hello, 911? I need to report--"

Smack.

The phone was ripped from my hand and flung to the floor. Garrett was breathing hard, his chest heaving.

"You're really gonna call the cops over this? On a day like today, you want to ruin it for everyone?"

"Okay, she shouldn't have done it that way, but she wasn't trying to hurt anyone. Do you really have to blow everything out of proportion?"

I stared at him like I was looking at a stranger.

"Garrett..." My voice sounded hollow, even to me.

"You went to medical school. You know exactly what alcohol does to an infant."

"This is your daughter."

"What's going on here?" Garrett’s parents elbowed through the gawking crowd, their faces thunderous.

"A perfectly good celebration, and you're causing a scene. Embarrassing!"

I pointed at the shattered glass on the floor. "Scarlett fed Sophie hard liquor. I'm calling the police."

"Liquor?" Garrett’s father Donald paused, then let out a dismissive snort.

"That's what this is about? When Garrett was a baby, his grandfather used to dip his finger in bourbon and let him lick it. Never hurt him one bit!"

Garrett’s mother Patricia jabbed a finger in my face.

"She's fine! What's the big deal? A little whiskey isn't going to kill her!"

"Scarlett is a good girl -- we've known her her whole life. Don't you dare blame her!"

I looked at Garrett's silence, at his parents twisting everything inside out, at Scarlett standing off to the side, shooting me a smug little smile.

I felt nothing but utter disgust.

I took a deep breath, turned, and walked toward the door.

Garrett called after me. "Where are you going?"

"The hospital." I didn't look back. "If anything is wrong with her, Scarlett, I swear to God, this isn't over."

Thank God -- Sophie had barely ingested any whiskey. Most of it was vomited up as she cried. But she was still rattled, fussy and limp from the shock.

Ethan put down his stethoscope and exhaled.

"What happened? Isn't today supposed to be Sophie's party?"

When I didn't answer, he let it go. Instead, he took a small pink box from his desk and handed it to me.

"I've got a major surgery today -- couldn't make it to the party."

His voice was warm. "This is a gift for Sophie."

When I stayed in the observation room with my baby, Garrett texted: "How's the kid? Mom and Dad say stop overreacting -- running to the ER over nothing."

I didn't reply. I turned off my phone.

At one in the morning, I carried Sophie through the front door of our house.

There, standing in the middle of my living room, was Scarlett -- wearing my favorite silk robe.

She spotted me and let out a theatrical little "Oh!"

"You're back! I didn't bring any clothes, so Garrett told me to borrow something of yours. You don't mind, do you?"