Chapter 3 - The Interrogation and the Shadows
Forty-eight hours later, Leo was stable enough to be moved to the pediatric intensive care unit. The septic shock had receded, his fever had broken, and though he was still heavily medicated for pain, his pale eyes were open when I pushed open the door to Room 312.
A stuffed brown bear sat on the crisp white hospital sheets, donated by a local charity. Leo’s right arm was elevated on a padded cradle, wrapped in clean white bandages connected to the quiet hum of the wound VAC machine.
He turned his head slowly on the pillow. His lips were no longer cracked, and a faint flush of color had returned to his cheeks.
"Dr. Sarah?" he whispered, his voice raspy and thin.
I pulled up a chair, sitting down beside the bed and taking his uninjured left hand in mine. It was small, fragile, and freezing cold.
"Hey there, buddy," I said softly, offering a warm, reassuring smile. "How are you feeling today?"
"My arm hurts," he admitted, blinking slowly. "Is Mommy here?"
The question hung in the air like a physical weight. I swallowed hard, choosing my words with agonizing care. "Mommy isn't here right now, Leo. She’s... she’s staying somewhere else for a while. You’re safe here with us. Nobody is ever going to hurt you or lock you away again. I promise you that."
Leo stared at the ceiling for a long moment, watching the IV drip chamber measure out saline drop by slow drop.
"She told me if I told anyone about the cast, the bad men would take me away," he whispered, a single tear slipping from the corner of his eye and dampening the pillowcase. "She said nobody would love a boy with a broken arm."
My heart fractured into a thousand sharp pieces. I squeezed his hand a little tighter. "Your mother was wrong, Leo. Look at this hospital. Look at all the people out there who fought like hell to keep you here. You are loved, you are brave, and you are never going back to that house."
Outside the glass partition of the room, Detective Miller from the Fairview Police Department stood waiting with a clipboard. He gave me a solemn nod through the window.
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Martha Harris was currently sitting in a holding cell downtown, facing felony charges of aggravated child abuse, criminal neglect, and endangerment. Child Protective Services had already initiated emergency placement protocols for Leo’s long-term care, and several of my colleagues had already started a trust fund to cover his future reconstructive surgeries.
Justice was moving, slow and grinding, but it was moving.
