Chapter 5
I stayed beside the door while Naomi asked her mother to leave.
She did not scream.
That made it worse.
“My children asked you for help.”
Evelyn’s eyes filled.
“Naomi, I never imagined—”
“You didn’t have to imagine. Tessa told you.”
“I thought she was exaggerating.”
Owen stared at the floor.
I watched him fold himself smaller.
Naomi saw it too.
“Please leave.”
Evelyn reached toward her.
Marisol stepped between them without touching anyone.
“Naomi has asked for space.”
Evelyn looked at me as if I could fix what had happened.
I could not.
Some things could only be faced.
She left.
The door stayed open.
Owen watched it for a long time.
That afternoon, the children were moved to adjoining hospital rooms while Naomi continued treatment.
June went home to sleep.
I should have done the same.
Instead, I bought a toothbrush from the hospital gift shop and washed my face in a restroom.
Darnell brought clean clothes.
He found me standing beside the bicycle.
“You planning to live here?”
“Until they don’t need me.”
“They’ve got professionals.”
“I know.”
“And they’ve got you,” he said. “But you need sleep if you’re going to be useful.”
I hated that he was right.
Marisol helped make the decision.
The children could remain with Naomi under the hospital’s arrangements for the night. Their immediate needs were covered.
I went home for four hours.
I dreamed about scraping metal.
When I woke, my phone was ringing.
It was Naomi.
Her voice sounded thin.
“Curtis called.”
I sat upright.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes. We’re still here.”
“What happened?”
“He said I’m letting strangers destroy the family.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you tell hospital security?”
“Marisol is coming.”
“Good.”
“He said he’s getting out. He said I should remember whose name is on my lease.”
That was when the next part emerged.
Curtis had helped Naomi find her apartment after the divorce.
He had co-signed the lease.
He also held her spare key.
Her bank card had been in her bag when the ambulance took her away.
He had collected that bag.
Naomi had believed he was paying bills and buying food for the children.
Now she was afraid to check.
I went back to the hospital.
Not to make promises I could not keep.
To sit beside her while she faced what came next.
A victim advocate named Alana helped her contact the bank.
Naomi listened.
Then she covered her mouth.
Several withdrawals had emptied most of her savings.
There were purchases she had never made.
A television.
A gaming system.
Restaurant charges.
One payment had gone to an account she did not recognize.
Naomi looked toward the children’s room.
“He told me groceries were expensive.”
Alana helped her freeze the card and report the transactions.
The detective assigned to the children’s case came that evening.
Detective Harris was patient, with a notebook he kept mostly closed while the children spoke.
He told Naomi that Curtis and Denise had separate interviews.
Their stories were already conflicting.
Curtis claimed the laundry room door had been locked only briefly.
Denise claimed Curtis had done it while she was asleep.
Neither explained why Tessa had no shoes or why the children described being denied meals.
Owen’s account would be taken by a trained interviewer.
Tessa’s too.
I was grateful nobody expected them to keep telling the story to every adult who entered the room.
Then Harris mentioned the phone calls.
“Save everything. Don’t respond.”
Naomi nodded.
“He said he could take the children.”
“He can say that,” Harris answered. “That doesn’t make it true.”
After he left, Naomi cried quietly.
“I let him in.”
I sat across from her.
“You were injured.”
“I trusted him.”
“He used that.”
“I should have known.”
I looked toward the open door.
Owen stood there.
He had heard us.
Naomi wiped her face immediately.
He approached the bed.
“I didn’t know either.”
She reached out.
He stopped just short of her hand.
Then he said, “If it wasn’t my fault, it can’t all be yours.”
I felt those words land harder than anything I could have offered.
Naomi opened her arms.
This time, he went into them without hesitation.
Later, while the children slept, she showed me a message from Denise.
A photograph of Naomi’s apartment door.
Under it were six words.
You still have to come home.
I asked permission before taking the phone to Alana.
By morning, Naomi had started the process of requesting protective orders.
The hospital restricted visitors.
Her landlord agreed to change the locks before she returned.
Our chapter offered practical help through Marisol.
Groceries.
Transportation.
A repair to the damaged bicycle.
Nobody asked for photographs.
Nobody posted the children online.
Wizard had taught us years ago that helping someone was not a performance.
Then my own phone rang.
An unfamiliar number.
I answered without thinking.
A man spoke.
“You the biker filling my sister’s head?”
I stepped into the hallway.
“Don’t contact me again.”
“You don’t know anything about our family.”
“I know the children needed help.”
His voice dropped.
“You think that little boy told you everything?”
I said nothing.
He laughed once.
“Ask him what he stole.”
Then he hung up.
I stood outside Owen’s room, staring at my phone.
Inside, the boy was asleep with his hand wrapped around his sister’s.
Whatever Curtis wanted me to believe, I would not ask Owen like an accuser.
May you like
I would tell the detective.
And let the child keep sleeping.
