Chương 14
“Adults take forever.”
Adam said, “Accurate.”
She smiled.
Carmen asked if she could speak with Adam and me outside.
We followed her into the hall.
“There may be a placement decision within the next few hours.”
My pulse jumped.
“Us?”
“You’re the preferred emergency kinship option at this point.”
I looked at Adam.
He looked stunned.
“What do we need?”
Carmen started listing practical things.
A safe sleeping space.
Basic household review.
Information about weapons, medications, pets, childcare, school transportation.
The ordinary questions were strangely comforting.
They belonged to a world where problems could be met with sheets and schedules.
“We have a guest room,” Adam said.
“It has a bed.”
“No lock on the outside?”
Carmen asked it routinely.
The question still hit me.
“No.”
Adam answered first.
“No exterior locks anywhere.”
“We have cleaning supplies under the kitchen sink,” I said.
“We can move them.”
Carmen nodded.
“Medications?”
“Bathroom cabinet.”
“Move those too.”
“Done.”
“Any firearms?”
“No.”
“Pets?”
“One elderly cat.”
“Temperament?”
Adam said, “Judgmental.”
Carmen looked at him.
“He’s harmless.”
“Mostly because he’s lazy,” I added.
She wrote something.
Maybe harmless cat.
Maybe exhausted relatives making bad jokes.
Then her phone buzzed.
She checked it.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
I asked.
She looked up.
“The court accepted the emergency filing.”
My chest tightened.
“And?”
“There will be a hearing this afternoon.”
“Will Gloria be there?”
“Yes.”
“Walt?”
“Yes.”
“Ian?”
“He has the right to participate.”
My mouth went dry.
Carmen continued.
“Until then, the agency is recommending Lizzy remain in protective custody and, if medically discharged, be placed temporarily with you and Adam.”
I stared at her.
“Temporarily.”
“Yes.”
“How temporary?”
“I can’t answer that yet.”
I nodded.
For once, the careful word did not bother me.
Temporary was not a victory.
It was a bed without a latch.
That was enough for today.
Adam squeezed my hand.
Then Carmen’s phone rang again.
She stepped away to answer it.
I heard her say her name.
Then, “Yes, I’m with them now.”
She listened.
Her face tightened.
“What time was that?”
Another pause.
“Did anyone enter?”
I looked at Adam.
He was already watching her.
Carmen turned away from us slightly.
“No, do not contact her directly.”
My stomach sank.
She ended the call and came back.
“What happened?”
I asked.
“That was Officer Bennett.”
“Is my father okay?”
“Yes.”
“What then?”
Carmen hesitated.
“Your mother went to your house.”
My blood went cold.
“Was Noah there?”
“Yes, but he is safe.”
I stepped toward her.
“What did she do?”
“She did not get inside.”
Adam pulled out his phone.
“No messages from Megan.”
“She was speaking with police.”
Carmen held up a hand.
“She followed the safety plan.”
“What did Gloria want?”
Carmen looked at me.
“She told officers she was there to collect Noah.”
For a second, I could not process the sentence.
“What?”
“She said you had abandoned him at the hospital and that she was his grandmother.”
Adam’s face went white with anger.
“She tried to take our son?”
“She asked police to make your sister-in-law release him.”
I laughed once.
It sounded wrong.
“She actually did it.”
Carmen watched me carefully.
“Did what?”
I looked toward Lizzy’s room.
“Exactly what she threatened.”
My phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number appeared.
You have taken one child from me.
You will not keep both.
I showed Carmen.
She read it without touching the phone.
Then she said, “Do not reply.”
I stared at the screen.
For the first time in my life, ignoring my mother did not feel like surrender.
It felt like evidence.
The message remained on my screen while Carmen photographed it with her work phone.
Adam stood beside me with both hands on his hips.
He looked like he needed somewhere to put the anger and could not find a safe place.
“Can that help with the hearing?” he asked.
Carmen nodded once.
“It may.”
There was that word again.
This time I almost smiled.
Of course it may.
Nothing in this world arrived stamped with certainty.
Not abuse.
Not protection.
Not family.
Not even truth.
It had to be carried into rooms and written down and said out loud until enough people agreed it existed.
I forwarded the message to Officer Bennett.
Then I blocked the number.
My thumb hovered over the screen for half a second before I did it.
Gloria had never been blocked by me.
Not once.
Not through college.
Not through the year after Noah was born when she called six times a day.
Not through every argument where I muted my phone and then checked it anyway.
The confirmation appeared.
Blocked.
I expected relief.
What came instead was grief.
Adam saw my face.
“You okay?”
“No.”
He nodded.
“Still same.”
“Still same.”
A little after nine, Dr. Patel discharged Lizzy from medical care with instructions for fluids, regular meals, pediatric follow-up, and documentation that sounded both ordinary and devastating.
Tasha helped her change into hospital sweatpants and a T-shirt from a donation closet because the clothes she arrived in had been bagged separately.
Lizzy held the bag at arm’s length.
“Do I have to wear those again?”
“No,” I said.
Tasha looked at me.
I looked at Carmen.
Carmen said, “No.”
Lizzy handed the bag back so quickly it was almost funny.
Almost.
Carmen drove separately to our house because the emergency placement required a home visit.
Adam drove.
I sat in the back with Lizzy.
She fell asleep before we reached the highway.
Her head tipped against the window.
Every few minutes, I checked whether she was breathing.
I hated that habit.
It was an old one.
One I had worked hard to lose.
At a red light, Adam glanced at me through the mirror.
“Stop counting.”
I looked at him.
“How do you know?”
“You move your lips.”
I stopped.
May you like
Lizzy slept through the rest of the drive.
When we turned onto our street, a police cruiser was still parked near the curb.
