Chapter 2
Officer Kim shut the cruiser door.
Not to trap me.
To protect me.
The moment the door closed, Brenda’s screaming sounded farther away.
Still loud.
Still terrifying.
But separated by glass and metal and two officers who finally saw her.
I pressed myself against the seat.
My wrist throbbed where her nails had dug into me.
Officer Kim opened the front passenger door and leaned in so I could see her face.
“Liam, I need you to breathe with me.”
I tried.
It came out broken.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
Brenda was still shouting.
“That is my stepson! You people have no idea what you’re doing!”
Officer Martinez ignored her.
He called for another unit.
Then another.
Words floated through the air.
Possible kidnapping.
Fraudulent documents.
Minor child.
Passport.
My ears rang.
Kidnapping.
That word did not belong in my life.
Abuse did.
Bruises did.
Brenda’s locked pantry did.
But kidnapping was something from movies.
I watched officers spread papers across the hood of a patrol car.
My photo.
Fake names.
Different birth dates.
Different states.
One document said I was born in New Mexico.
Another said Arizona.
The passport said I was eleven.
I was ten.
Officer Martinez held up a folded sheet and read it.
His face darkened.
“Kim,” he said quietly.
Officer Kim left me for only a second, then returned with the paper.
She didn’t show it to me.
But I saw enough.
Flight itinerary.
Austin to Miami.
Miami to Belize City.
Departure: tomorrow morning.
My stomach turned to ice.
Brenda had been leaving.
With me.
Not asking Dad.
Not telling anyone.
Taking me.
I pressed my palms against my knees.
“Where’s my dad?” I asked.
Officer Kim’s face softened.
“We’re trying to reach him.”
Dad worked construction management outside the city.
Sometimes he was at sites with bad service.
Sometimes Brenda took his phone when she was mad and said he needed to “focus on his real family.”
I whispered, “She said he wouldn’t want me if he knew.”
Officer Kim’s eyes sharpened.
“Knew what?”
“That I was bad.”
“You are not bad.”
She said it too fast.
Like she needed me to hear it before Brenda’s voice came back.
I looked out the window.
Brenda was being placed into the back of another cruiser.
She was still twisting around to look at me.
Her mouth moved.
I couldn’t hear through the glass.
I didn’t need to.
I knew the words.
Traitor.
Liar.
Useless.
Ungrateful.
I looked away.
Officer Martinez came to the car.
He crouched beside the closed door.
“Liam, we found some documents in Brenda’s vehicle. We’re going to keep you safe while we figure out what they mean.”
“Am I going to jail?”
His face changed.
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I kicked her.”
“She grabbed you first. You protected yourself.”
That sounded impossible.
At home, protecting myself made things worse.
Here, an officer said it like it was allowed.
Officer Kim drove me to the station.
Not with sirens.
Not fast.
Just steady.
She gave me a bottle of water and a granola bar.
I held the granola bar without opening it.
“You can eat it,” she said.
“I don’t know if I’m allowed.”
Her mouth tightened.
“You are allowed.”
That made me cry.
Not loud.
Just tears falling down my face while the patrol car moved through Austin traffic.
At the station, they took me to a room with soft chairs and a table covered in crayons.
I was too old for crayons.
I used them anyway because my hands needed something to do.
A woman named Ms. Parker came in.
Child Protective Services.
She wore blue glasses and spoke gently.
“Liam, I’m here to help make sure you have a safe place tonight.”
“Not home?”
“Not if Brenda has access.”
“What about Dad?”
“We’re working on reaching him.”
I stared at the table.
“What if he’s mad?”
Ms. Parker sat across from me.
“Mad at who?”
“Me.”
“Why would he be mad at you?”
“For telling.”
She took a slow breath.
“Liam, adults are responsible for keeping children safe. You are not responsible for hiding what an adult did.”
That sounded nice.
I didn’t trust it yet.
Hours passed.
They took photos of my injuries.
A doctor checked my ribs, back, arms, and wrists.
She asked how often Brenda hurt me.
I said, “Only when I mess up.”
The doctor paused.
Then said quietly, “That means often enough that you learned to blame yourself.”
I didn’t know what to say.
At 7:18 p.m., the door burst open.
My father stumbled in.
“Liam!”
His hard hat was still in one hand.
Dust covered his jeans.
His face was white.
I stood so fast the chair fell backward.
For one second, I forgot fear.
“Dad!”
He dropped to his knees and opened his arms.
I ran into them.
He held me like I was little again.
Like before Brenda.
Before the rules.
Before I learned to listen for footsteps.
His body shook.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
I clung to his shirt.
“Are you mad?”
He pulled back.
His eyes were full of tears.
“Mad at you? Liam, no.”
“Brenda said—”
“Brenda lied.”
The words came fast.
Sharp.
Final.
“She lied.”
Officer Martinez stepped into the room.
“Mr. Walker, we need to ask you some questions about Brenda’s vehicle and the passport.”
Dad looked up.
“What passport?”
The room changed.
Officer Martinez’s expression hardened.
“You didn’t know?”
Dad held me tighter.
“Know what?”
Ms. Parker placed the blue passport on the table.
Dad stared at my photo inside it.
Then at the flight itinerary.
Then he whispered, “Oh my God.”
His eyes moved to me.
“She was going to take you.”
I shook my head.
“I didn’t know.”
Dad covered his mouth.
Then he looked at Officer Martinez.
“Where is she?”
“In custody.”
May you like
Dad’s voice dropped.
“Keep her there.”
