“You’re making her think she’s in danger.”
Rachel didn’t argue.
She reached into the nursing bag she had come back to retrieve.
Daniel watched her hand.
She pulled out her work phone.
“I need you to move away from the door.”
“You’re calling the police over this?”
“I’m asking you to move.”
Something in her voice changed him.
Not fear.
Certainty.
He stepped aside.
Rachel guided me toward the entryway.
Before we crossed it, she stopped.
“Emily, one question.”
I looked at her.
“Does Daniel manage your medications?”
My husband’s face changed.
I saw it.
Rachel saw it too.
“Yes,” I said.
“Most of them?”
“Yes.”
“Does he fill your pill organizer?”
“Yes.”
“Does he pick up your prescriptions?”
“Yes.”
Daniel interrupted.
“Because she’s sick.”
Rachel looked back at him.
“I didn’t ask you.”
Then she turned to me again.
“Have you ever felt more sleepy, confused, or nauseated after Daniel gave you medication than when someone else did?”
