Chapter 5
Brenda’s first court hearing happened two days later.
I did not have to go.
Ms. Parker said children do not always need to sit inside rooms where adults argue about their pain.
I stayed at Aunt Rachel’s house with her neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, who made quesadillas and let me watch cartoons.
But Dad went.
Rachel went.
Officer Martinez went.
So did Mrs. Bailey, my gym teacher.
I didn’t know teachers could show up outside school like that.
Dad called afterward.
His voice sounded tired.
“The judge ordered Brenda to stay away from you, me, the house, your school, Rachel’s house, and Mrs. Bailey.”
“Did she talk?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
Dad paused.
I gripped the phone tighter.
“Tell me.”
He sighed.
“She said you were troubled. She said you hurt yourself for attention. She said she was trying to save you from me.”
My stomach twisted.
“From you?”
“She claimed I was neglectful and she was the only one willing to discipline you.”
I looked at my bruised wrist.
“Did the judge believe her?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because the judge looked at the passport.”
I pictured the blue passport on a courtroom table.
My face inside a name that wasn’t mine.
Liam Carter.
A boy Brenda was trying to create because Liam Walker had people who might find him.
Dad continued.
“The prosecutor said there may be more charges. Identity fraud. Attempted kidnapping. Injury to a child. Assaulting an officer. Retaliation.”
“Retaliation?”
“For grabbing you after police intervened.”
I went quiet.
The word sounded too big for my small wrist.
Dad said, “Liam?”
“Yeah?”
“I filed for divorce.”
I didn’t know what to feel.
Happy.
Scared.
Guilty.
“What if she comes back?”
“She won’t live with us again.”
“What if you change your mind?”
Silence.
My heart pounded.
Then Dad said, “I earned that question.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. You asked because I taught you I might choose quiet over truth. I won’t do that again.”
Aunt Rachel took the phone after that.
“Your dad cried in court,” she said.
“Rachel,” Dad said in the background.
“He did. Ugly cried.”
I smiled a little.
“Did Brenda see?”
“Oh, yes. Very satisfying.”
Dad groaned.
Rachel’s voice softened.
“But he stood up. He told the judge he failed you and that Brenda should not be near you. That matters.”
It did.
Not enough to erase.
Enough to notice.
The next week was full of appointments.
Doctor.
Therapist.
CPS interview.
Police follow-up.
School meeting.
Everyone kept asking questions.
Where did she hit you?
What did she use?
How often?
Did your father see?
Did she feed you?
Did she lock you in rooms?
Did she threaten to take you away before?
I answered until my throat felt raw.
Sometimes I said “I don’t know.”
Sometimes I said “I forgot.”
Sometimes I cried.
Nobody yelled.
Nobody called me dramatic.
Nobody said I was making trouble.
That was strange.
One afternoon, Mrs. Bailey came to Rachel’s house.
She brought a backpack full of schoolwork and a chocolate muffin.
“I didn’t know if you liked blueberry,” she said.
“I like chocolate.”
“I guessed correctly then.”
She sat at the table with me.
“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”
I looked down.
“You noticed.”
“Late.”
“But you noticed.”
Her eyes filled.
“I did.”
That mattered more than she knew.
At school, rumors had started.
I knew because Lucas from my class texted me.
Lucas: Are you ok?
Me: I guess.
Lucas: People are saying your stepmom got arrested.
Me: She did.
Lucas: People are also saying you’re in witness protection.
Me: That’s dumb.
Lucas: Yeah. I told them you’re probably becoming Batman.
I laughed.
Then cried because laughing felt wrong.
My therapist, Dr. Naomi Wells, said that was normal.
“Your body is learning safe feelings again,” she said.
“Laughing is safe?”
“It can be.”
“Brenda hated when I laughed too loud.”
Naomi wrote something down.
Then looked at me.
“In here, you can laugh loudly.”
I didn’t.
Not then.
But I remembered.
The investigation found more pieces.
Brenda had rented a house in Florida using fake documents.
She had created an email account pretending to be Dad.
She had requested school transfer information.
She had searched “countries without easy child custody return” on her laptop.
She had bought two burner phones.
She had told a neighbor I was “going to stay with relatives for discipline.”
Every new fact made Dad look older.
Every new fact made Aunt Rachel angrier.
Every new fact made me wonder how close I had come to disappearing.
One night, I woke up screaming.
In my dream, Brenda had pulled me from the police car and no one stopped her.
Dad came running from the couch.
Rachel came from her bedroom with a baseball bat.
I sat up crying.
“She got me.”
Dad knelt beside the bed.
“No. You’re here.”
“She had the passport.”
“I know.”
“She had my suitcase.”
“I know.”
“She almost took me.”
Dad’s voice broke.
“But she didn’t.”
I looked at him through tears.
“Because I kicked her.”
He nodded.
“Because you kicked her. Because Mrs. Bailey noticed. Because officers acted. Because you survived long enough for people to see.”
May you like
I hugged my bear.
Dad whispered, “And now we keep seeing.”
