THE TABLET ON THE SIDE TABLE

Michael turned toward the side table. The fire snapped behind him, and the tablet’s screen glowed between a water glass and a stack of club newsletters.

A red dot blinked in the corner.

Karen took one step toward it. I scrambled up from the rug and got there first, putting myself between her and the table. My cheek throbbed. A silver fragment crunched under my flat.

“Don’t touch it,” I said.

“It’s club property,” Karen snapped.

“So is the trophy.”

Her eyes dropped to the pieces around the hearth. Liam wailed from the leather armchair, his little hands opening and closing. I picked him up before he could roll toward the edge.

Michael stood with one hand still half raised. “What is on that tablet?”

“I set it up to record the lounge,” I said. “For the renovation walk-through. You asked me to have it ready before you came.”

He looked at the tablet again. “I asked Karen to meet me here at five.”

The mantel clock showed two minutes past.

Karen smoothed the front of her charcoal suit. “Then you know why I’m here. Nora was handling the trophy, and she dropped it. I was trying to get the child out of the way.”

Liam buried his face in my shoulder. I kept one hand over the back of his pale cotton romper and reached for the tablet with the other.

Karen lunged across the table.

I snatched it up before her fingers reached the screen. The water glass tipped, spilling over the newsletters and onto the floor.

“Give me that,” she said.

Michael moved between us. “Karen. Stop.”

She stopped, but her hand remained out.

I tapped the red square. The recording ended, and a thumbnail appeared. My fingers were shaking so badly I nearly opened the wrong file.

“Play it,” Michael said.

Karen let out a short laugh. “You’re going to believe a video over me? I’ve managed this club for eleven years.”

“Play it, Nora.”

I set Liam back in the armchair, wedging my folded cardigan beside him and keeping my knee against the cushion. Then I tapped the thumbnail.

The screen showed the lounge from the side table: two leather armchairs, the fireplace, the rug, and the tall windows overlooking the golf course. The late sun lay across the carpet. In the recording, the door stood open.

Karen entered carrying the trophy against her white shirt. Liam was already on the rug, playing with a cloth book. I heard my own voice from outside the frame.

“I’ll get his bottle from the kitchen.”

Karen glanced toward the door. “Hurry up.”

Michael leaned closer. “Why was Liam here?”

“His mother’s catering the board dinner,” I said. “Her sitter canceled. She asked if I could watch him while she unloaded. I told Karen.”

Karen folded her arms. “You brought a baby into the lounge without permission.”

“You said he could stay until five.”

“I did not.”

On the tablet, Liam dropped the cloth book and began to cry. Karen set the trophy on the hearth, bent over him, and tried to push the book back into his hands. He knocked it away.

“Where is she?” Karen muttered.

In the recording, I appeared briefly beyond the door, speaking to someone in the hall. I had Liam’s bottle in my hand.

Karen picked up the trophy.

“Karen,” Michael said quietly.

“It looks worse without context.”

We watched her lift it above Liam. Her grey hair swung across her cheek. “Shut up!” she shouted.

A second later, I ran into the frame.

“Put him down!”

My arms went out. The trophy slipped. The impact cracked through the tablet’s speaker, followed by the sound of Liam crying and me calling his name.

Michael reached down and paused the recording.

No one spoke. Through the windows, a groundskeeper drove a small cart along the edge of the course. Its engine hummed faintly behind the glass.

Karen pointed at the paused image. “She frightened me. I lost my grip because she came charging in.”

“You were holding it over him,” I said.

“I was moving it away.”

“Above his head?”

She looked at Michael. “You know how she gets. Always rushing, always making a scene.”

Michael’s gaze shifted to my cheek. A hot pulse ran under the skin where his hand had landed.

“I should not have struck you,” he said.

I picked Liam up again. “No. You shouldn’t have.”

He reached for his phone. Karen caught his sleeve.

“Michael, don’t make calls until we’ve discussed this privately.”

He pulled his arm free. “A child could have been killed.”

“And if you call the police, every member will hear about it by dinner.”

I watched his thumb hover over the screen.

Liam’s crying had dwindled to wet hiccups. I checked his feet again, spreading each tiny toe. A fleck of silver glittered on his heel. I brushed it away with the corner of my sleeve.

“His mother needs to see him,” I said. “And I need this video saved somewhere Karen can’t delete it.”

“I’m standing right here,” Karen said.

“That’s why.”

Michael called the front desk. “Send security to the lounge. And find Liam’s mother in the kitchen. Ask her to come immediately.”

Karen’s face tightened. “You’re suspending me over an accident?”

“I haven’t decided anything yet.”

“You saw her dive at me.”

“I saw you lift a trophy over a baby.”

She walked toward the fireplace and crouched beside the wreckage. A jagged piece of the trophy lay against the hearthstone. She picked it up by its base.

“Put that down,” I said.

She turned the fragment in her hand. “Do you know what this cost?”

“No,” I said. “Do you know where the rest of it landed?”

She set the piece down. I could see a thin red line across her palm, but she closed her hand before it dripped.

The lounge door opened, and Liam’s mother hurried in wearing a black catering apron. A security guard followed her. She took one look at Liam and reached for him.

“What happened?”

I passed him over carefully. He caught a fistful of her apron and pressed his face into her neck.

“He’s crying, but I haven’t found a cut,” I said. “The trophy broke near him. Please check him yourself.”

She sat in the armchair and examined his arms and legs. When she peeled back the neck of his romper, Liam squirmed and protested. His mother kissed his curls, then checked his feet.

“Who broke it?” she asked.

Karen opened her mouth.

“I recorded the lounge,” I said. “It’s on the tablet.”

Michael held out his hand. “I’ll show her.”

I drew the tablet back. “I’ll play it.”

His hand fell to his side. The security guard remained by the door while Liam’s mother watched the recording, one arm wrapped around her son. At Karen’s shout, Liam flinched against her.

His mother stopped the video after the trophy fell.

“You were supposed to be watching him,” she said to me.

“I went for his bottle. I’m sorry. I thought he was safe here with Karen.”

Liam’s mother looked at Karen. “You said you’d sit with him.”

Karen’s lips parted. “I didn’t agree to—”

“You took him from me at the kitchen door. You said Nora was coming right back.”

Michael turned to the guard. “Please take Karen to my office. She’s not to access club devices or records while we review this.”

Karen stared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

She looked at me. “After everything I’ve done for you?”

I held the tablet against my side. “You told me to stay late last week because you’d lost the dinner invoices. They were in your desk.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“I know.”

The guard opened the door. Karen walked out without taking his arm, her injured hand curled against her suit. Her flats clicked down the hall until I couldn’t hear them anymore.

Michael asked the guard to call an ambulance for Liam and me. Liam’s mother said she would take him to the emergency room herself, but she wanted the paramedics to look him over first. I sat on the edge of the other armchair while we waited, the tablet in my lap.

Michael remained standing.

“I’ll give you the recording,” I said, “after I’ve made a copy.”

“Of course.”

“And the part where you hit me stays in.”

His eyes moved to the floor. “Yes.”

I sent the video to my personal account and then to Liam’s mother. She checked that it had arrived before putting her phone away. When the paramedics came, one examined Liam while the other shone a light in my eyes and asked me questions about the fall.

Michael tried to tell them what had happened. I answered for myself.

By the time the police arrived, the sun had dropped below the tops of the tall windows. One officer photographed the trophy fragments; another asked me to show her the recording. She watched all of it, including the moment Michael pulled me up and slapped me.

Michael stood beside the fireplace with his hands in his pockets.

The officer looked up from the tablet. “Do you want to make a statement about the assault?”

My cheek was swelling. I could feel it when I spoke.

“Yes,” I said.

Michael took a breath. “Nora, I’ve apologized. I’ll pay for any medical—”

“I want to make a statement,” I repeated.

The officer took out her notebook. Michael stopped talking.

Liam’s mother left with him after the paramedics finished checking him, promising to take him to the emergency room. At the door, she paused and touched my arm.

“Send me anything else you remember,” she said.

“I will.”

After she left, the officer asked whether I wanted a photograph of my cheek taken there or at the station. I chose the station. I picked up my cardigan from the armchair, shook a silver fragment from its sleeve, and laid it over the back of the chair for the officer to collect.

Then I handed her the tablet with the recording still open and followed her out of the lounge.