Chapter 10 - Diane’s Arithmetic
My mother’s interrogation transcripts were not public, but prosecutors summarized in discovery.
At first Diane denied.
Then documents.
Then Frank.
Then she changed.
“I saved Madison.”
That became her defense.
Not legally.
Morally.
In her mind.
Assistant Commonwealth’s Attorney Laura Bennett asked:
“Did Rachel consent?”
“No.”
“Why not ask?”
“She would have said no.”
“How do you know?”
“Rachel is emotional.”
“So because you believed she would refuse, you removed her ability to refuse.”
Silence.
Then:
“Did you tell Rachel Sophie died?”
“Yes.”
“Was Sophie dead?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Rachel already had Lily.”
There.
The arithmetic.
Nicole had one sick child.
Rachel had two healthy babies.
Taking one left each sister with one.
Except Nicole did not keep Sophie as daughter.
She kept access to her body.
Diane said:
“Madison would have died.”
Maybe.
The prosecutor:
“Was Sophie guaranteed to save her?”
“No.”
“Did any doctor tell you kidnapping a child was medically required?”
“No.”
Then:
“Why not seek court authorization for donor use?”
Because no court would authorize stealing a newborn.
Diane avoided.
Then her view of me.
“Rachel has always been dramatic.”
Asked for examples.
I changed college majors once.
I refused to loan Nicole more money.
I moved out at twenty-two.
I objected when Diane entered my apartment without asking.
Boundaries became instability in Diane’s language.
Then Nicole.
“Nicole needed more support.”
Why?
“She’s always been sensitive.”
The violent sister was sensitive.
I was emotional.
Words distribute sympathy.
Then Diane’s financial favoritism.
Not directly crime.
But pattern.
She had paid Nicole’s mortgage twice.
Covered Madison’s private treatment expenses.
Borrowed against home.
Frank worried.
Diane told him:
“Rachel can take care of herself.”
Yes.
I could.
So I received less care.
Then when twins came:
“Rachel can handle one.”
That sentence appeared in text to Nicole.
My body shook reading.
Not:
Sophie will be safe.
Not:
This is temporary.
Rachel can handle one.
Children rationed based on perceived maternal competence.
Then Evan said:
“Stop reading.”
“I need.”
“No, you think hurting yourself with every message makes you prepared.”
He was right.
I hated.
I closed laptop.
Then our relationship.
Trauma turned me volatile.
One evening Evan moved a folder without telling me.
I exploded.
“Don't touch my papers!”
He froze.
Then:
“Okay.”
No defense.
I started crying.
“I’m sorry.”
He said:
“You can ask me not to touch. You don’t have to scare yourself first.”
We moved my case documents into locked cabinet only I controlled.
Not because he was untrustworthy.
Because I needed agency.
Then Lily.
She began asking:
“Why Grandma mean?”
Age four.
I answered:
“Grandma made unsafe choices.”
“Does she love me?”
Maybe.
“Yes. But love doesn’t make unsafe choices okay.”
Then Sophie heard.
“Does Grandma love me?”
I swallowed.
“I think she believes she does.”
Too complicated.
Dr. Meyers simplified:
“Grandma Diane cared about you and also hurt you by making choices she had no right to make.”
Sophie accepted more easily than adults.
Then Madison.
She wrote Lily and Sophie a picture.
Three stick girls holding hands.
Scott, her father, asked through therapists whether girls should receive.
I said yes.
No note about Nicole.
Just:
I hope you are okay.
Sophie recognized Madison’s handwriting.
“She sick?”
“Not right now.”
“Did I make her better?”
That question arrived sooner than expected.
I answered carefully.
“Doctors used cells from your body to help Madison.”
“Did I say yes?”
“No.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Adults who shouldn’t have.”
Sophie looked down.
“Would I have said yes?”
I wanted to cry.
“You were too little to be responsible for that decision.”
Then:
“Is Madison bad?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Never.
Sophie nodded.
Then:
“I like Madison.”
“You can.”
That was the moment I understood the revenge version of this story would never satisfy me.
If I taught Sophie to hate Madison, I would be doing another version of Diane’s arithmetic.
May you like
Making one child carry adults’ choices.
I refused.
