Only after the parents left did they bring Piper out on a stretcher. Lauren and the others had already gone by then, snuck out a back way to the side street, but a few intrepidly nosy parents had parked around the corner from Silver Swans and peered at the stretcher situation from their cars, texting all their contacts it was indeed Piper. A few nosy parents even followed the ambulance to the hospital and grilled one of the cops supervising the ambulance transfer about what had happened inside the hall. All he said was there’d been an accident, read a post. But now Piper’s in critical condition. Who could have done this?

I heard it was one person, the theories began. Others said five. Then some quoted the news report that had come out, correctly identifying that it was three. I saw a blond head in one of the squad car windows. She was quite tall. And then another comment: Oh, I think I know who she is. We’ve all seen that mother around, I believe. Andrea? Lauren’s blood curdled.

And then there was that pretty one, another anonymous poster wrote next. But like, a trashy pretty. Did they mean Ronnie?

The speculation about Lauren was disproportionately bland. Don’t know about the third parent. Someone from the infant program? Though maybe it was good to fly under the radar. At least they weren’t saying she was a violent bitch who’d probably done it.

Because . . . had she?

The moments she couldn’t remember needled at her. If only she had a few details to hang on to. If only she could retrace her steps from the office to that alcove in that other hallway, as the time frame was a little fuzzy. Once she truly came back to herself, she was trembling. Sweating. Chattering. If only she could be sure who had also been in that hallway besides the three of them—the real person who’d hurt Piper. A presence of . . . someone lingered in her consciousness. A voice. Heavy steps. She worried it might just be her mind making up explanations, though. Scrambling for answers. Turning away to the ugly truth about herself.

From down the hall came the sound of a baby’s coo, which made Lauren’s nipples tingle. Crazy that after the day she’d had, her breasts still produced milk as usual. She hurried out of bed and slid her feet into slippers. In the living room, Graham sat on the couch, laptop perched on his knees; Matthew fiddled with a stacking ring on the carpet. Lauren felt a tug in her chest, which only intensified when Graham didn’t glance her way. He’d already made coffee—a mug sat on the table next to him. Normally, he brought her a cup in bed.