Chapter 3: Seven Minutes
The paramedics arrived in seven minutes.
It felt like seven years.
One of them, a broad-shouldered man named Curtis, placed an oxygen mask over Noah’s face while his partner pressed gently around his abdomen.
Noah screamed when she touched his lower right side.
Emily turned away, covering her mouth.
“Likely appendicitis,” the paramedic said. “Possibly ruptured.”
The words struck harder than anything Sarah had said.
“Ruptured?” I repeated.
“How long has he been in pain?”
“Since this morning.”
The paramedic looked at Sarah.
“How long was he in the basement?”
Sarah opened her mouth.
No sound came out.
I stepped toward her.
“How long?”
“Maybe an hour.”
Matthew stood in the hallway.
His face was white.
“No,” he said.
Everyone turned.
Sarah’s eyes sharpened.
“Go upstairs, Matthew.”
He did not move.
“You put him down there before we opened presents.”
Sarah stared at him.
“Matthew.”
“You did.”
The paramedic checked her watch.
“What time were presents opened?”
Matthew looked at the digital clock on the stove.
“Two-thirty.”
It was now 4:36.
More than two hours.
Sarah had locked my sick child in a freezing basement for more than two hours.
“You lied,” Emily whispered.
Sarah’s expression hardened.
“He was ruining everything.”
The second paramedic looked up sharply.
“What do you mean, ruining everything?”
“He kept asking to lie down. He was making the other kids uncomfortable.”
“So you locked him downstairs?”
“I needed to manage twelve children!”
“You had six adults in the house,” I said.
The front door opened again.
Two police officers entered.
One of the paramedics must have requested them after hearing the circumstances.
Sarah’s posture changed immediately.
Her shoulders lowered.
Her voice softened.
“I think this is being misunderstood.”
Officer Ramirez, a woman in her forties with calm eyes, looked from Sarah to Noah.
“A child was found unconscious in a locked basement. We’re going to need everyone to remain here.”
“I wasn’t unconscious,” Noah whispered through the mask.
Curtis smiled gently.
“Save your strength, buddy.”
As they lifted the stretcher, something fell from the pocket of Noah’s hoodie.
A small black phone.
His emergency phone.
The screen was cracked.
Emily picked it up.
“I thought Sarah took this.”
Noah’s eyes moved weakly toward the phone.
“She threw it down the stairs.”
Sarah shook her head.
“That’s not true.”
Matthew spoke again.
“Yes, it is.”
Sarah spun toward him.
“Stop talking.”
The boy flinched.
Officer Ramirez noticed.
So did I.
Matthew was not defending his mother.
He was afraid of her.
Emily pressed the power button.
The phone screen lit up.
There were six failed outgoing calls.
Three to me.
Two to Emily.
One to 911.
The final call had lasted four seconds.
Officer Ramirez leaned closer.
“Was that call answered?”
Emily opened the call log.
“No. It disconnected.”
The officer looked toward the basement door.
Then at Sarah.
“Did you interfere with a child attempting to call emergency services?”
Sarah’s mouth opened.
Before she could answer, the phone vibrated.
A notification appeared.
Audio recording recovered.
Noah had accidentally activated the emergency recording function when the phone hit the stairs.
May you like
The file was two hours and twelve minutes long.
And whatever had happened inside that house was now recorded.
