Chapter 5
Tove’s obsession with Mireya’s inhaler started after our engagement photographs.
That surprised me.
The photographer had suggested removing the pouch from Mireya’s wrist because it disrupted the image.
I said no.
Apparently Tove remembered.
“She said it made the pictures ugly,” Margaret told me.
I stared.
“What did you say?”
“That Mireya needed it.”
“And?”
“She smiled.”
My mother’s voice changed.
“Then said after the wedding, she would decide what the child needed in public.”
There.
Not care.
Presentation.
I pulled the engagement photo proofs.
In every image where Mireya wore the pouch, Tove looked tense.
In the one where a staff member had briefly held it, Tove looked relaxed.
Ridiculous.
Small.
Revealing.
Then I found the photographer’s email.
REQUESTED RETOUCH:
Remove medical pouch from child’s wrist where possible.
Requested by Tove Mercer.
I looked at her across the table.
“You edited my daughter’s emergency equipment out of family photographs.”
She shrugged.
“It’s visual cleanup.”
“Then you started cleaning it out of real life.”
Her face hardened.
“That is not fair.”
“No?”
I placed the pharmacy bottle between us.
“Why was this in Margaret’s bag?”
Silence.
“Were you setting her up?”
That landed.
Her expression changed.
Margaret inhaled sharply behind me.
Tove finally spoke.
“I was tired of everyone blaming me.”
I stared.
“So you put Mireya’s medicine in my mother’s handbag.”
She said nothing.
I understood.
If it was discovered missing, suspicion would move toward Margaret.
Not Tove.
The woman who had been protecting Mireya.
That was why Tove tried to leave with the bag.
May you like
Not to steal.
To control the evidence.
