I turned.
He looked genuinely frightened now.
“I swear.”
The pediatrician watched him carefully.
“What did you think your mother meant when she said she would take care of the hair problem?”
He hesitated.
Then whispered, “I thought she’d scare her.”
My stomach turned.
“You knew she was threatening our daughter.”
“I didn’t think she’d actually do it.”
There it was.
Not innocence.
Not ignorance.
A choice.
He had heard the threat.
He had approved of it.
And then he had trusted his mother not to cross a line.
Except he had never bothered to find out where the line was for our daughter.
My daughter reached for my hand.
We left.
Three Days Later
The report moved faster than I expected.
There were interviews.
Questions.
More questions.
People asked me what I knew.
What I had seen.
What my daughter had told me.
I kept reminding myself not to answer for her.
