her own front door like a stranger who had come to the wrong house.
She stopped so abruptly the suitcase tipped over beside her. “Where is he?” she asked, and there was still a laugh caught in her voice, like her mind hadn’t caught up with the scene yet.
The officer asked her name. When she answered, he handed her the paperwork. CPS emergency removal. Notice of investigation. A court date set for the very next morning.
Melissa blinked at the pages, then at me. “Are you serious right now?”
“He was alone,” I said. “He was screaming when I got there.”
“I had someone checking on him.”
The detective beside the cruiser spoke before I could. “We’ve interviewed the neighbors. No one entered that apartment.”
The color drained from her face under the vacation tan.
“Dad, tell them this is insane. Tell them you took him because you wanted to. Tell them I asked you to.” Her voice got faster, thinner. Desperate.
I thought about the note on the wall. About Noah’s skin under those diaper tabs. About the way he clung to me in the hospital like letting go would kill him.
“I won’t lie for you,” I said.
She stared at me like I had slapped her.
Then came the anger.
She started shouting that every mother needed help, that I had always judged her, that this was exactly why she never trusted me. She took one step toward the door as if she could still push past everyone and reclaim the life she’d left sitting there. The officer moved in front of her.
“Melissa Hanley,” he said quietly, “you need to come with us.”
Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
And when she saw the handcuffs come out, the only thing she could say, over and over, loud enough for the whole building to hear, was…
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