That night the prosecutor had decided to remand Stella and the only bright spot I could see was that Michael Blomberg had been assigned as her public defender.
I asked a contact with the police to call as soon as they were finished searching our house. Then I walked through our rooms on shaky legs, trying to ferret out what the technicians had found. It couldn’t be much.
Before Adam and I took the taxi to the police station on Saturday night, I had staggered in among the bins at the neighborhood recycling station around the corner. I pretended to vomit noisily as I stomped Stella’s phone to pieces and tossed them in the metal-recycling container. The SIM card was already safely tucked in my purse. I still didn’t know what had happened, but I knew that Stella’s texts might contain compromising information. Anguish chafed in my chest, but it was easier than I’d expected. You may think there are things you’re incapable of doing, but they suddenly seem natural when it comes to protecting your child.
Later that night, I rooted through every corner of the house and discovered the bloody blouse, which was hidden rather sloppily under a pile of clothes in the laundry room. It was still damp. Had Stella hidden it there? Or had Adam emptied the washing machine? I was of two minds about what to do for a bit, but when Michael called to say that the police were on their way I threw the blouse into the woodstove to be on the safe side. I watched sparks fly around the crackling fabric.
I was full of conflicting emotions. As a lawyer, I was guilty of the most horrific violation of the law one could imagine. As a mother, my choice was the only correct one. I still had no idea what had happened on Friday night, but I knew with certainty that it was my duty to protect my daughter.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, Adam called as soon as his interrogation was over. When I realized he’d lied to the police to give Stella an alibi, I was flooded with warmth. It was an act of love, perhaps the ultimate proof of how much he loved Stella and me. From that moment on, I knew that I would do anything for our family.
I told Adam that the police technicians were still in our house. He couldn’t return home for a few more hours. I needed to buy time.
A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I stole to the window of the laundry room and peeked out.
All I could see of the person at the door was a black cap pulled so low on their forehead that it hid their face. A pair of feet in dark sneakers were shuffling nervously on the stone steps.
I cracked the door, just wide enough to grab her arm and pull her into the entryway.
“I didn’t want to call anymore,” she said.
I peered out the small window mounted in the door and concluded that the street was deserted. No one had seen her.
“Come in,” I said.
She walked to the kitchen without removing her shoes. I hurried past her to the window and flicked the curtain over it.
“What happened?”
My voice quaked.
Amina looked at me with her beautiful brown eyes, which had gone red and runny.
“I can’t believe it … Stella … I…”
She was shaking as I took her hand. We hugged each other tightly; it felt as if she wanted to cling to me. After a while I had to work my way out of her arms.
“I know,” I said. “I read Stella’s texts.”
“You did?”
She stiffened. I stroked her arm and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek.
“Stella forgot her phone at home.”
Amina gasped. I held her with both hands and found myself struggling not to break down.
“We’re going to fix this, sweetie. We’ll fix it.”
She cried like a child.
She was just a child. She and Stella were both children.
I was the adult here. I was the mother. I was the one who had to save them.
All of a sudden, the tears stopped. Amina heaved silently.
“He wasn’t supposed to die.”
104
“It was self-defense,” said Amina. “Wasn’t it?”
I tried to absorb what she’d just told me. There was so much, all at once, so many emotions and details.
“I was planning to run as soon as he stopped the car. I even had my hand on the door handle, ready to jump out. But he had locked the doors from the inside. I couldn’t go anywhere.”
She looked at me as if she were dangling from a cliff and I was the only one who could extend a helping hand.
“You must have been so scared,” I said.
Amina nodded.
“It was self-defense, right?”
“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. I still hadn’t quite formed a clear picture of what had happened. “Where did the knife come from?”