The room felt like it had shrunk, the air thick with anxiety and unspoken words. Heather’s eyes darted around, avoiding direct contact with any of us, landing finally on Emery, cradled in my arms. My heart clenched as realization began to seep in, but I forced it down, waiting for her to speak.
The CPS investigator repeated the question. “Do you know how your daughter got these bruises, ma’am?”
Heather hesitated. A momentary lapse of composure cracked across her face before she steadied herself, taking a deep breath. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need to call Alex.”
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