I Moved In To Help My Daughter With Her Triplets, But I Just Found Out She Is Drugging Me Every Thursday. She Thinks I Have Dementia, But I Am Actually Recording Everything She Says In The Nursery. How Do I Tell The Police My Own Daughter Is A Monster?

A Grandmother’s Duty

I thought helping my daughter Emma with her newborn triplets would be the most rewarding chapter of my life. After losing my husband Robert to cancer 6 months ago, I needed purpose. I needed to feel useful again.

Emma called me 3 weeks after the babies were born, her voice cracking with exhaustion.

“Mom, I can’t do this alone,”

she said.

“Brad works from home but he’s always in meetings. The babies barely sleep. I’m drowning.”

Of course, I said yes. What grandmother wouldn’t? I packed my belongings from the home Robert and I shared for 37 years and moved into Emma’s guest room in their modern suburban home outside Sacramento.

The triplets were beautiful: Sophia, Michael, and Grace. They were 3 months old, with Emma’s dark eyes and Brad’s dimpled chin. Those first two weeks, I threw myself into helping. I did the 2 a.m. feedings, I changed diapers, and I rocked crying babies while Emma caught precious hours of sleep.

Brad seemed grateful, always thanking me, always offering to help carry things or make me tea. He was attentive. Perhaps too attentive, but I dismissed the thought. He was just being a good son-in-law.

Emma worked as a pharmaceutical sales rep and she’d taken only 3 months of maternity leave. She was anxious about going back.

“Mom, I don’t know how I’ll manage,”

she said one evening while we folded tiny onesies.

“The company is demanding. They expect me back full-time.”

“That’s why I’m here, sweetheart,”

I told her.

“You focus on work. I’ll take care of my grandbabies.”

She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Looking back, I should have noticed that. I should have noticed a lot of things.

Whispers in the Dark

The strange occurrences started in week three. I’ve always been a light sleeper, even more so since Robert died. Our bedroom had been on the second floor and sometimes at night I’d wake up and reach for him, forgetting for those first confused seconds that he was gone.

Now I slept in the guest room adjacent to the nursery and my sleep was already fragmented by baby duty. It was a Monday night when I first heard it. 2:17 a.m., according to the clock on my nightstand.

I just finished feeding Sophia and put her back in her crib. I was climbing back into bed when I heard voices from the nursery. Low, urgent whispers. Adult voices.

I froze, my hand on the blanket. Emma and Brad’s master bedroom was on the opposite side of the house, past the living room and down a hallway. They wouldn’t be in the nursery. Not at this hour. Not whispering like that.

I crept to my door and opened it slowly. The nursery door was closed and a thin line of light showed underneath. Someone had turned on the lamp. The whispers continued, muffled but definitely there. I recognized Emma’s voice, then Brad’s.

“Just a little more. They won’t know.”

“Are you sure this is safe?”

“Trust me, I’m a pharmaceutical rep. I know what I’m doing.”

My heart hammered in my chest. What were they doing? Why were they in there in the middle of the night? The babies had been sleeping soundly when I’d put Sophia down 5 minutes ago.

I approached the door, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. I reached for the handle but it wouldn’t turn. Locked from the inside. A cold dread washed over me. Why would anyone lock a nursery door from the inside?

It was a safety hazard. What if there was a fire? What if something happened to the babies? I stood there for several minutes, listening.

The whispers stopped. I heard movement, then the click of the lamp being turned off. Darkness under the door again. I hurried back to my room and eased the door almost shut, leaving it open just a crack so I could see.

About 3 minutes later, the nursery door opened. Brad emerged first, looking left and right down the hallway. Emma followed, carrying something small in her hand. I couldn’t see what it was in the darkness. They moved quickly toward their bedroom and I heard their door close softly.

Unnatural Sleep

I waited 10 minutes then went to check on the babies. I used the flashlight on my phone instead of turning on the lamp. All three were sleeping deeply, their breathing even and steady.

Too deeply, I thought. Too still. Normal newborn sleep was fitful, punctuated by little movements and sounds. This was different. This was the kind of deep sleep that seemed almost unnatural.

I stood there in the dark nursery, my phone’s light casting shadows across the three cribs, and felt ice forming in my stomach. Something was wrong. I didn’t know what yet, but something was very, very wrong.

The next morning at breakfast, I watched them carefully. Emma looked tired but that wasn’t unusual. Brad was cheerful, making pancakes and humming.

“How’d you sleep, Margaret?”

he asked me.

“Fine,”

I lied.

“The babies were angels last night. Barely heard a peep.”

“See,”

Emma said to Brad.

“I told you they’d adjust to sleeping through the night.”

But three-month-old triplets don’t just suddenly start sleeping through the night. Not all three at once. Not like that.

Over the next few days, I paid closer attention. On Tuesday, I noticed a small medicine dropper in the bathroom sink. Not the one we used for the baby’s vitamin drops. This was different, smaller, and it smelled faintly medicinal when I picked it up and sniffed it.

On Wednesday, while taking out the trash, I found a receipt at the bottom of the kitchen bin. Walgreens. The items listed made my blood run cold: Diphenhydramine 50 mg adult formula and Melatonin 10 mg extra strength.

Why would they need adult strength sleep aids? Emma had mentioned she wasn’t sleeping well but this seemed excessive. And there was another item on the receipt that caught my eye: Oral syringe 5 ml.