Keith, bless his heart, was blind. He saw his sister’s grief, not her malice. “She’s just trying to help, babe,” he’d say, rubbing his temples. “She’s not up to date on current safety guidelines. Be patient. She loves Lily.”

His parents were worse. “You’re being a paranoid new mother,” my mother-in-law scolded. “Bridget would never hurt that baby. She worships her.”

But worship demands sacrifice. And I was beginning to realize that Bridget didn’t care if Lily survived, as long as she possessed her.

The breaking point—or what I thought was the breaking point—came when Lily was two months old.

I had left Lily in her bouncer for exactly three minutes to use the bathroom. When I returned, the scene that greeted me made my blood run cold. Bridget was kneeling beside the bouncer, holding a spoon. A golden, viscous liquid was dripping onto my daughter’s tongue.