Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
The arrest of Ethan Moretti and Richard Moretti made the local evening news in Wichita Falls within twenty-four hours.
The footage showed my son and my husband being led out of the rental house in handcuffs, their heads ducked away from the flashing cameras. Melissa, my daughter-in-law, had returned from the grocery store while the police were executing the search warrant; she broke down in hysterics on the front lawn, screaming that they “had no choice,” before she was also taken in for questioning regarding accessory and willful child neglect.
I spent those two days sitting in a quiet, sterile family room at the hospital, refusing to leave Noah’s side.
When my grandson finally woke up fully on the second day, his eyes were clear for the first time since I had met him. The haunted, feral look in his gaze had softened.
“Grandma?” he whispered, his voice small and hoarse.
“I’m right here, sweetheart,” I said, leaning over the hospital bed to stroke his soft chestnut curls. “You’re safe. Nobody is ever going to hurt you again. I promise.”
“Are Daddy and Grandpa coming back?” he asked, a shadow of fear crossing his little face.
My heart broke a little more, but I kept my voice steady. “No, baby. They aren't. It’s just you and me now. Forever.”
A social worker named Sarah Jenkins entered the room softly, holding a clipboard with a warm, sympathetic smile. “Mrs. Moretti? The emergency placement hearing went through this morning. Given your immediate intervention and your legal standing as his maternal—pardon me, paternal grandmother, temporary emergency custody has been granted to you.”
“Thank you,” I breathed, the first real sigh of relief escaping my chest in days.
“There’s one more thing,” Sarah added, her expression turning serious. “Given the severity of the charges, your husband’s legal representation has already started pushing back. They claim it was an isolated disciplinary measure taken out of context. They’re trying to secure bail.”
My jaw tightened. The grief I had felt for my crumbling marriage instantly evaporated, replaced by an unyielding, freezing iron.
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“Bail?” I said, standing up from the chair. “Not while I’m breathing. I have photos of his ankle. I have the medical records. And if they want a witness to testify about what Richard Moretti was about to do with that shock collar, I will sit on the stand every single day until he rots behind bars.”
Sarah blinked, clearly surprised by the fierce, protective fire burning in an old woman who looked like a mild-grained grandmother. She offered a respectful nod. “The prosecutor’s office has all the ammunition they need, Mrs. Moretti. They won't see daylight anytime soon.”
