I saw my daughterinlaw fling a leather suitcase into the lake and drive off. I ran to the shore and heard a faint thudding from inside.
Please, please dont be what I fear, I whispered, my hands shaking over the wet zipper.
I hauled the suitcase out, forced the zipper open, and my heart stopped. What lay inside made me tremble in a way I had never known in my sixtytwo years.
First, let me tell you how I got therehow a quiet October afternoon turned into the most terrifying scene of my life.
It was half past five. I knew the time because I had just poured a cup of tea and glanced at the old mantel clock my mother had left me. I stood on the front porch of the cottage where I raised my only son, James. The house now felt too large, too silent, too full of ghosts since I laid James to rest six months ago.
Lake Windermere stretched out before me, flat as a sheet of glass. The heat was the sort that makes you sweat under your cardigan even when youre still.
Then I saw her.
Mabels silver Austin thundered down the dusty country lane, kicking up a cloud of grit. My daughterinlaw, the widow of James. She drove as if chased by a storm. The engine roared unnaturally. Something was terribly wrong.
I knew that lane. James and I used to walk it when he was a boy. No one drove like that unless they were fleeing.
She slammed the brakes at the waters edge. The tyres skidded, sending a spray of dust into my face. My teacup slipped from my hand and shattered on the porch floor, but I didnt notice. My eyes were fixed on her.
Mabel leapt from the car, her grey dress the one James had given her for their anniversary hanging limp on her. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks flushed. She looked as if shed been both crying and shouting.
She yanked the boot of the car open with a force that could rip the hinge away.
And there it was: the brown leather suitcase I had given her when she married James.
So you can carry your dreams everywhere, Id told her that day.
How naïve I was.
Mabel pulled the suitcase from the boot. It was heavy; I could see the strain in her shoulders, the tremor in her arms. She glanced around, nervous, scared, guilty. I will never forget that look. Then she trudged toward the waters edge, each step a battle as if she were bearing the weight of the worldor something worse.
Mabel! I shouted from the porch, but I was too far away, or perhaps she could not hear me.
She swung the suitcase once, twice, and on the third swing she hurled it into the lake. The splash cut through the air. Birds fled. The case floated for a heartbeat before beginning to sink.
She turned and ran back to the car as if the devil himself pursued her. She slammed the engine, the tyres screeched, and the silver Austin vanished down the lane, leaving only dust and silence.
I stood frozen.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty. My mind scrambled to make sense of what Id just seenMabel, the suitcase, the lake, her desperation. Something was terribly wrong. A chill ran down my spine despite the heat.
My legs moved before my thoughts could stop them.
I ran. My knees protested, my chest burned, but I didnt stop. Down the porch steps, across the garden, onto the lane. My sandals kicked up dust. The lake was only a few hundred yards awaymaybe less, maybe more. Every second felt like an eternity.
When I reached the shore I was breathless, my heart hammering against my ribs. The suitcase still bobbed, slowly sinking, the leather dark and soaked.
Without a second thought I waded in. The water was colder than I expected, rising to my waist, the mud at the bottom clinging to my feet. I almost lost a sandal. I lunged forward, grabbed a strap, and hauled.
It was as heavy as a sack of bricksor worse. I didnt want to imagine what could be worse.
I pulled harder. My arms shook, water splashed my face. Finally the suitcase gave way and I dragged it toward the bank.
Then I heard ita faint, muffled sound from inside.
My blood ran cold.
No, it cant be, I whispered, God, please dont let it be what I think.
I scrambled the suitcase onto the wet sand, fell to my knees, and fumbled with the rusted, wet zipper. My fingers slipped.
Come on, come on, I muttered through clenched teeth.
Tears blurred my vision. I forced the zipper once, twice. It burst open.
The lid lifted, and what I saw stopped the world.
My heart stopped. Air caught in my throat. My hands flew to my mouth to stop a scream.
There, wrapped in a damp lightblue blanket, lay a newborn baby. His lips were purple, his skin pale as wax, his eyes closed, his tiny body still.
Oh my God, no, I choked.
My hands shook so badly I could barely hold him. I lifted him out with a tenderness I hadnt known I still possessed. He was coldso cold his weight was less than a bag of sand. His little head fit in the palm of my hand.
His umbilical cord was tied with a plain piece of string, not a medical clamp. It looked as if someone had done this at home, in secret, without any help.
No, no, no, I whispered over and over.
I pressed my ear to his chest. Silence. Nothing.
I pressed my cheek to his nose, and then felt a faint puff of air. He was breathing, barely, but he was breathing.
I stood, clutching the baby to my chest, my legs trembling, and ran back to the house faster than I had ever run. Water dripped from my clothes, my bare feet bled from the stones, but pain was drowned by terror and urgency.
I burst through the front door, screaming. I didnt know what I was screamingperhaps help, perhaps God, perhaps nothing coherent.
I grabbed the kitchen phone with one hand, the baby with the other, and dialled 999. My fingers slipped on the buttons, the handset nearly fell twice.
999, what is your emergency? a calm female voice asked.
A baby, I sobbed. I found a baby in the lake. He isnt responding. Hes cold, his lips are purple. Please, send help.
Maam, I need you to stay calm. Tell me your address.
I gave it to her in a rush, the words tumbling out.
The operator told me to place the baby on a flat surface. I cleared everything off the kitchen table in one swift motion; plates, papers, everything crashed to the floor. I laid the infant on the table, so small, so fragile, so still.
Is he breathing? I asked, my voice highpitched and trembling.
You tell me. Look at his chest. Is it moving?
I peered. Barely. A tiny risejust enough to be a movement.
Yes, I think so. Very little.
Listen carefully, the operator said. Get a clean towel, dry him gently, then wrap him to keep him warm. An ambulance is on its way.
I fetched towels from the bathroom, dried his minute body clumsily, wrapped him in clean cloth, and cradled him again. I began to rock him instinctively, a longsuppressed instinct resurfacing.
Hang on, I whispered. Theyre coming. Theyre coming to help you.
The minutes stretched into forever. I sat on the kitchen floor with the infant against my chest, singing a lullaby I used to hum to James when he was a baby. I didnt know the words; they were just soft sounds meant to let him know he wasnt alone, that someone was holding him, that someone wanted him to live.
The sirens finally cut the silence. Red and white lights flashed through the windows. Two paramedics leapt from the ambulancean older man with a grey beard and a young woman with her dark hair pulled back.
The woman took the baby from my arms with a practiced efficiency that broke my heart. She checked his pulse, listened with a stethoscope, then announced, Severe hypothermia, possible water aspiration. We need to move now.
They placed him on a tiny gurney, fitted an oxygen mask, and connected wires and monitors I could not understand.
The man looked at me. Youre coming with us, he said. It was not a question.
I climbed into the ambulance, the baby swaddled in a clear blanket, and watched the world blur past the windows as the sirens wailed.
What did you see? the paramedic asked while working.
In a suitcase. In the lake. I saw someone throw it in. I swallowed the lump in my throat.
She stared at me, then at her partner. Did you see who it was?
I opened my mouth, closed it. Mabel. My daughterinlaw. The woman who had sobbed at Jamess funeral as if the world had ended. The same woman who had just tried to drown a baby.
How could I say that? How could I even believe it? I thought.
Yes, I finally managed. I saw who it was.
We arrived at the citys Royal Hospital in less than fifteen minutes. The emergency department doors swung open, a dozen staff in white and green scrubs swarmed the gurney, shouting numbers, medical terms, orders. I tried to follow, but a nurse stopped me.
Maam, you need to stay here. The doctors are working. We need some information. She led me to a waiting room with creamcoloured walls, plastic chairs, the smell of disinfectant.
I sat, shivering from head to toe, not knowing whether the cold was from my wet clothes or shock. The nurse across from me was older, perhaps my own age, with kind wrinkles and a name badge that read Claire.
Ill need you to tell me everything that happened, she said softly.
I recounted everythingfrom the moment I saw Mabels car to the moment I opened the suitcase. Claire took notes on a tablet, nodded, didnt interrupt.
When I finished, she sighed. The police will want to talk to you. This looks like attempted murder, possibly worse.
Attempted murder. The words hung in the air like black birds.
My daughterinlaw. My sons wife. A murderer.
I could not process it.
Claire placed a hand on my trembling one. You did the right thing. You saved a life.
It didnt feel like a triumph. It felt like I had uncovered something terrible that would change everything forever.
Two hours later a young doctor entered. He was in his thirties, darkcircles under his eyes, hands smelling of antiseptic.
The baby is stable for now, he said. Hes in the neonatal intensive care unit. He suffered severe hypothermia and water aspiration. The next fortyeight hours are critical.
Is he going to live? I asked, my voice broken.
I dont know, he replied honestly. Well do everything we can.
Half an hour later two officers arriveda woman in her forties with her hair tied in a tight bun and a younger man with a notebook. The woman introduced herself as Detective Inspector Sarah Clarke. Her dark eyes seemed to read straight through lies.
They asked me the same questions repeatedly, from different angles. I described the car, the exact time, Mabels movements, the suitcase, everything. Detective Clarke stared at me with such intensity I felt guilty even though I had done nothing wrong.
And youre sure it was your daughterinlaw? she asked.
Completely sure. My voice shook.
Why would she do such a thing? she pressed.
I dont know. My throat tightened.
Where is she now?
I dont know. The silence stretched.
When was the last time you spoke to her?
Three weeks ago, on the anniversary of Jamess death.
She wrote something down, exchanged a glance with her partner, then said, Well need you to give a formal statement tomorrow and you must not contact Mabel under any circumstances. Do you understand? I nodded.
I thought of the countless questions swirling in my headwhy would she try to kill a baby? Why would she hide a pregnancy? Why had she killed James? The answers would not come easily.
Claire returned with a blanket and a cup of tea. You should go home, get some rest, change your clothes, she said.
But I could not leave. I could not leave the baby alone in the hospital after I had pulled him from death with my own hands.
Ill stay, I said.
I changed into a nurses oversized trousers and a toolarge Tshirt from the hospitals spare wardrobe. I looked at my reflection; I seemed ten years older in one afternoon.
I didnt sleep that night. I sat in the plastic chair, watching the clock. Every hour I got up and asked about the baby. The nurses gave the same answer: Stable. Critical. Fighting.
At three in the morning, Father Michael, the priest from my local church, arrived. He sat with me in silence. After a long while he said, God tests us in many ways.
It doesnt feel like a test, I replied. It feels like a curse.
He nodded, offering no sermon, just his presenceproof that I was not entirely alone in the darkness.
When dawn broke, the world felt different. I had crossed a line that could never be uncrossed. I had seen something I could not unsee. Whatever came next, I would have to face it because that tiny infant, fighting for every breath in the next room, had become my responsibility.
I hadnt chosen him, but I could not abandon him after pulling him from the water, after feeling his heartbeat against mine.
The sunrise painted the waitingroom windows a pale orange. My back ached, my eyes burned, but I could not leave.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the suitcase sinking, the little body, the purple lips.
At seven in the morning Claire brought a coffee and a sandwich wrapped in foil. You need to eat, she said, handing it to me.
I wasnt hungry, but I ate because she was there. The coffee scalded my tongue, the sandwich tasted of cardboard, but I pretended to be a normal person on a normal morning.
The baby is still stable, Claire told me. His temperature is rising, his lungs are responding. Its a good sign.
Can I see him? I asked.
She shook her head. Not yet. Only immediate family, and we still dont know who that is.
Family. The word struck me like a stone.
That baby must have a familyperhaps a mother, Mabel, who had tried to kill him, and a father, James, who had died protecting him. Why hadnt anyone reported the baby missing? The questions piled up.
At nine, Detective Clarke returned alone, a folder in her hands. She stared at me as if I were the suspect.
Betty, I need to ask a few more questions, she said, opening the folder.
Ive told you everything I know, I replied.
She showed a photograph of Mabels silver Austin parked in a supermarket car park, ten minutes after I had seen her at the lake.
It was taken at 5:20pm, ten minutes after my sighting. How could that be? I stammered.
I dont know. Well keep looking, she said.
She then asked, What is your relationship with Mabel? Do you get along?
Weve never gotten along, I answered bluntly. From the day James introduced her to me, I sensed something off. She was too perfect, too calculating, too interested in Jamess money.
She leaned forward. Do you blame her for Jamess death?
The accidentJames had been driving home after dinner with Mabel, it had been raining, the car had skidded and hit a tree. James died instantly; Mabel walked away with minor scratches. It always seemed odd to me, convenient. I never had proof, only a grieving mothers suspicion.
It has everything to do with the baby, Clarke said. We havent located Mabel. Her house is empty,In the end, love proved stronger than any betrayal, reminding us that even in our twilight years we can still summon the courage to protect the innocent and cherish the fragile gifts life offers.
