Chapter 5: What Linda Did Next
She didn't stay at the hotel.
I found out three days later, from Ryan's sister Diane, who called on a Tuesday morning while I was feeding Noah.
"Mom's been staying with me," Diane said.
"I thought you knew."
"I didn't."
A pause.
"She told me you att\*cked her."
I put the bottle down.
"Diane, your mother poured milk over Noah's head because he was crying.
I have a CPS report from 2019 that says she did something similar to Daniel when he was six weeks old.
Ryan lost his son over it."
Silence.
"I didn't know about Daniel," Diane said finally.
"Neither did I.
Until three days ago."
Another silence, longer this time.
"She's been calling people," Diane said.
"Family.
Friends.
She told Aunt Patrice that you're unstable.
That Ryan is afraid of you.
That you've been isolating him."
My jaw tightened.
"And what do people believe?"
"Aunt Patrice called Ryan yesterday.
He didn't answer."
I set Noah in his bouncer and walked to the window.
"Diane, I need to ask you something directly.
Do you believe her?"
The pause was shorter this time.
"No.
I've seen how she is.
I just — I never thought she'd do it to a baby."
"She did it to two babies."
I heard Diane exhale.
"What do you need from me?" she asked.
"Right now, just don't tell her anything we're doing.
Can you do that?"
"Yes."
I hung up and called Ryan at work.
"She's at Diane's," I said when he picked up.
"And she's been calling your family.
She's building a case against me."
A beat of silence.
"How much has she told them?"
"Enough.
Patrice called you yesterday."
"I saw it.
I didn't pick up."
"You need to pick up, Ryan.
You need to call every person she's called and tell them the truth before her version becomes the only one they know."
"Sarah—"
"She is not going to win this by default because we stayed quiet.
That is exactly what she's counting on."
He was quiet for a moment.
"Okay.
I'll call Patrice tonight."
"Call her now."
He called her.
It didn't go well at first.
Patrice was sixty-three years old and had known Linda for forty years.
She listened to Ryan with the careful, skeptical politeness of someone who had already made up her mind.
When Ryan mentioned the CPS report, Patrice said, "Babies bruise easily, Ryan.
That doesn't mean—"
"She poured milk on my three-month-old son's face, Aunt Patrice.
Sarah didn't make that up.
I saw it."
A long pause.
"I'd like to see that report," Patrice said.
Ryan sent it that afternoon.
Patrice called back two hours later.
She didn't say much.
Just: "I owe Sarah an apology.
And I won't be calling Linda back."
It was a small thing.
But it mattered.
What I didn't know was that Linda had already made a different kind of call — one that had nothing to do with family opinion.
Diane texted me that evening: *Mom left this afternoon.
Took her big suitcase.
Wouldn't say where she was going.
I don't like it.*
I read the text twice.
Ryan was giving Noah a bath.
I could hear the water running, hear him making soft sounds to keep Noah calm.
I walked to the kitchen and looked at the CPS report still sitting on the table where we'd left it.
Linda had left with her big suitcase.
She hadn't gone home to Beaumont.
I picked up my phone and called the one person I should have called three days ago — the family lawyer who had handled Ryan's custody case with Daniel.
His assistant said he was in a meeting.
"Tell him it's urgent," I said.
"Tell him Linda Calloway is involved."
There was a pause on the line.
"He'll call you back within the hour," the assistant said.
The water in the bathroom went quiet.
Ryan appeared in the doorway with Noah wrapped in a towel, smelling of baby soap, blinking sleepily.
"Who were you calling?" Ryan asked.
"Marcus Webb," I said.
Ryan's expression shifted.
"Why?"
"Because your mother left Diane's with a full suitcase and nobody knows where she went." I looked at him.
May you like
"And because I think she's done something.
I just don't know what yet."
