Chapter 9 - The Hand He Was Afraid Of
I called Detective Elena Grant before driving back to the hospital. I told her my first statement was incomplete and that I wanted to correct it in person.
"You understand we can't erase the original?" she asked.
"I don't want it erased. I want the truth attached to it."
Then I went into Leo's room and sat where he could see me. He was awake, rubbing his dinosaur's worn green tail between two fingers. The monitor still made a soft, steady chirp.
"Did I do something bad?" he asked.
"No, honey."
"You said stop."
The sentence nearly took my knees out from under me. "I was wrong. You were trying to tell me you couldn't breathe. I didn't listen."
He stared at my hands.
"Will you hit?"
"No." I held them open on my lap. "I shouldn't have hit your hand. I am so sorry. You can be mad at me. You can tell me you're scared."
He thought about that, the way four-year-olds do when they need to decide whether an adult means what she says.
"The big man was loud," he whispered.
"He was trying to help."
"He said stay."
"He wanted you to stay with us."
Leo reached toward me, then pulled back. I didn't close the distance. After a long minute, he put his small palm on mine. The weight of it was almost nothing. The trust it represented could have crushed me.
A hospital social worker came in later. She asked about my exhaustion, my support system, and what I'd do differently if Leo became ill again. I told her everything, including the swat. I expected her to take him away that afternoon. Instead, she helped me arrange parenting support and emergency-response training, and explained that the review would continue.
After she left, Leo sat up suddenly.
"Mommy? The star lady gave me two."
I froze. "What star lady?"
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"The pretty lady at the counter. One red. One blue."
He opened his fist. Hidden beneath the dinosaur's tail was a tiny blue plastic star.
