Chapter 7 - The Interrogation Room
The county sheriff’s precinct smelled of stale black coffee, floor wax, and the quiet despair of fluorescent lights that hummed at an irritating frequency.
I sat in a hard plastic chair in the observation hallway, holding a paper cup of lukewarm water that I hadn't touched. Inside the adjacent room, through the one-way glass, Maris sat at a metal table with her arms crossed over her chest, staring blankly at the wall while a defense attorney she had frantically called from the back of the cruiser argued in hushed tones with the detective.
Lumi was currently two doors down in the family liaison suite, fast asleep on a narrow cot with a brand-new teddy bear the female caseworker had managed to pull from an emergency supply bin. For the first time in months, her shoulders weren't hunched up toward her ears. Her breathing was deep, regular, and entirely unburdened.
The heavy door to the observation room clicked open, and Detective Miller—a tired-looking man in his late forties with a silver-shot crewcut—stepped out, wiping a hand across his forehead.
"Well, Mr. Reed," Miller said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from me. "Your paperwork checks out. The digital audio on that recorder is pristine—clear as day, hearing Mrs. Vance threaten the child and lay out her entire financial scheme regarding the grandmother's trust fund."
"Is she talking?" I asked, keeping my voice neutral.
"Not about the abuse," Miller sighed, leaning back and crossing his arms. "Her lawyer is advising her to keep her mouth shut on the criminal charges. But financial crimes? Fraud? Forgery? We subpoenaed her bank records an hour ago. Let's just say your wife wasn't just trying to institutionalize her daughter; she was actively draining a quarter-million-dollar trust fund to pay off massive gambling debts accumulated over the last three years."
I felt a cold wave of revulsion wash over me. I had spent a year dating her, believing she was a hardworking, tired single mother doing her best to raise a kid alone. She had spun a flawless web of half-truths, making herself out to be the victim of circumstance while I played the role of the earnest, caring medic who walked right into her trap.
"What happens to Lumi now?" I asked, the question that mattered more than anything else pushing past my lips.
Miller gave me a long, searching look. "Well, legally, you're her stepdad of six weeks. Child services is going to place her in emergency protective custody with a licensed foster family while the courts sort out the guardianship and custody hearings."
My chest tightened sharply. Foster family. Strangers. Another house, another set of rules, another period of terrified silence where she wouldn't know if the adults around her were safe or setting a trap.
"No," I said instantly, my voice dropping into a hard, unyielding register. "She’s not going to foster care."
Miller raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Reed, I appreciate your devotion, but the legal reality—"
"I am her legal stepfamily," I interrupted, leaning forward across the table. "And more importantly, I am the only adult in her life right now whom she trusts enough to call 'Daddy.' Look at her medical history, look at the timeline of my employment, look at the emergency report I filed tonight. I am willing to undergo any background check, any psychological evaluation, any home study the state requires. But she is not going to strangers."
May you like
Miller studied my face for a long, quiet moment. In the ER, I had seen doctors and nurses make impassioned pleas for patients they barely knew; the good ones always had that particular look in their eyes—the unshakeable refusal to let a broken system swallow someone whole.
"File the emergency petition for temporary custody first thing in the morning," Miller said softly, sliding a business card across the table with a handwritten name scribbled on the back. "Mention my name to Judge Harrison. He hates frauds, and he has a soft spot for ER nurses who know how to triage a disaster."
