Who took the picture?
Hospital staff? Gang lookout? Josie?
By the time I reached the ER, two uniformed officers were outside Jacob’s room. Reba stood between them and Josie, her arms folded, her voice quiet but firm.
“You are not taking that child anywhere.”
Josie turned when she saw me.
“Nate, thank God.”
She looked smaller than I remembered. Blonde hair messy, mascara under her eyes, sweater buttoned wrong. Once, seeing her cry would have undone me. That morning, it only made me tired.
“Who took the picture?” I asked.
“What picture?”
I showed her the phone.
Her face emptied.
“I don’t know.”
“Darren’s people know where Jacob is.”
She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Maurice came by the house before I drove here.”
There it was again. Maurice, moving closer.
“What did he want?”
“He said Darren was family. He said you’d broken something that belonged to him.” She glanced toward Jacob’s door. “He asked about Bea. About Portland. I didn’t tell him anything, Nate. I swear.”
“Did Darren ever hurt Jacob before?”
Her silence answered first.
“Josie.”
“I thought…” She shook her head hard. “There were bruises. Darren said they were roughhousing. Jacob said he fell. I thought he was adjusting.”
“You thought what was convenient.”
Her eyes flooded. “I didn’t know he’d do this.”
“You knew enough to look away.”
The words hurt her. Good. Some pain is information.
Family court smelled like stale coffee, copier heat, and old carpet. Liliana had filed emergency custody before I even changed shirts. Judge Gallagher read the medical report with a face like carved stone.
Josie’s lawyer tried to make the case complicated. Accidents. Stress. Divorce tension. My assault in the parking lot. He used all the polished words people use when the truth is ugly and bleeding.
Judge Gallagher cut him off.
“Mrs. Parker, do you oppose temporary full custody being granted to Mr. Horn?”
Josie stood.
For a second I thought she might fight. I saw it in her face: pride, fear, shame, the desperate instinct to make yesterday less terrible.
Then she looked at Jacob’s empty chair beside me. He was still at the hospital, but I had brought his little blue backpack. It sat on the floor, one strap torn, a dinosaur keychain hanging from the zipper.
Josie broke.
“No, Your Honor,” she whispered. “Jacob should be with his father.”
