PART 3
The message stayed on my screen for almost a minute.
I know why the company doesn’t want parents asking questions.
I typed back.
Who are you?
The reply came almost immediately.
My name is Rachel. My daughter was hospitalized six months ago. Same product. Same reaction.
I looked at Emma.
Her breathing was steady now, but her face was still swollen.
I wrote:
What happened to your daughter?
This time, the response took longer.
She recovered. But we were told it was an unexplained allergic reaction.
Then another message appeared.
It wasn’t unexplained.
My hands went cold.
Rachel sent me a photograph.
It showed a different little girl sitting in a hospital bed.
Her eyes were swollen shut.
Red, blistered skin covered her cheeks.
It looked almost identical to Emma.
I showed Mark.
“That’s not possible.”
“I know.”
Another message arrived.
Check the batch number on Emma’s makeup.
I pulled the box from my purse.
There it was.
A tiny series of numbers printed underneath the packaging.
I sent Rachel a photograph.
She didn’t respond for several minutes.
Then:
That’s the same batch.
My stomach dropped.
“Mark…”
He stared at the screen.
“What?”
“The same batch made her daughter sick.”
Before we could say anything else, the hospital room door opened.
A woman in a dark blazer stepped inside.
“Are you Emma Carter’s parents?”
I immediately stood.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Laura Bennett. I’m with the manufacturer.”
Mark stepped forward.
“How did you know she was here?”
Laura looked uncomfortable.
“We received a report from the hospital.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
She glanced at the makeup kit on the table.
Then at me.
“We’d like to take the product for testing.”
“No.”
Her expression changed.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not giving you anything.”
“Mrs. Carter, we need to determine whether the product was contaminated.”
“Then test it here.”
She hesitated.
That hesitation told me everything.
Mark noticed it too.
“You knew about this.”
Laura shook her head.
“No.”
“Then why did you come here so quickly?”
She didn’t answer.
A nurse suddenly entered.
“Mrs. Carter?”
I turned.
“The doctor wants to speak with you.”
I followed her into the hallway.
The doctor was waiting with a folder.
His expression was serious.
“We’ve run additional tests.”
My heart began pounding.
“What did you find?”
“We can’t say with certainty what caused the reaction yet.”
I looked at him.
“But?”
“There are signs that this may be more than a simple cosmetic allergy.”
“What does that mean?”
He lowered his voice.
“We found evidence of a chemical irritation that isn’t typical for ordinary children’s makeup.”
I felt the floor disappear beneath me.
“Chemical?”
He nodded.
“We’re sending samples for further analysis.”
I looked through the glass at my daughter.
Then something caught my eye.
The little pink makeup bag was still sitting on the hospital table.
I walked back inside.
Laura was gone.
But the bag wasn’t where I’d left it.
Someone had opened it.
I grabbed it.
The makeup kit was missing.
“Where is it?”
Mark looked confused.
“What?”
“The makeup.”
His face changed.
He understood immediately.
We searched the room.
Nothing.
Then my phone buzzed.
Rachel.
Did the company take the makeup?
I typed:
Yes.
Her response came instantly.
Don’t let them.
Then:
They took my daughter’s kit too.
I stared at the message.
Another one followed.
And three days later, my daughter disappeared from the hospital records.
My blood ran cold.
“What do you mean disappeared?”
Rachel didn’t answer.
Instead, she sent me a photograph.
A document.
At the bottom was a signature.
Laura Bennett.
The same woman who had just walked into my daughter’s hospital room.
I looked toward the hallway.
She was gone.
And suddenly, I realized something terrifying.
She hadn’t come to help Emma.
She had come to collect evidence.
