That promise was more frightening than a threat.
She was never gentle unless she needed something.
Aunt Mara touched my shoulder.
“Missing them does not mean you have to sacrifice yourself.”
My mother’s expression snapped.
“Stay away from my daughter.”
The older officer moved between them.
“Ma’am, step back.”
For the first time, she seemed to understand that nobody in the room was going to force me into her car.
Her panic turned into anger.
“So what happens now? You steal all my children because my teenager is lazy?”
“No decision has been made about placement,” the investigator replied.
“But we are conducting an immediate safety assessment.
Another team is currently at your residence.”
My mother froze.
“You went into my house?”
“With your consent provided by phone when you believed officers were searching for your daughter.”
I remembered hearing her tell someone, loudly and dramatically, that officials could search anywhere because she had nothing to hide.
She had overplayed her power.
The investigator’s phone vibrated.
She read the message, and her expression became still.
“The team has located the children.”
My mother crossed her arms.
“Good.
Then they can see they’re fine.”
The investigator looked up.
“They were alone.”
No one moved.
My mother opened her mouth, then closed it.
“The oldest boy is twelve,” the investigator continued.
“The youngest is fourteen months.
Your twelve-year-old said you left before noon and told him to keep everyone inside until his sister was brought home.”
My mother turned toward me as if this were somehow my fault.
“I thought this would take twenty minutes.”
“You left six children alone to retrieve the child who normally supervises them,” the investigator said.
The younger officer exhaled slowly.
Aunt Mara covered her mouth.
I felt sick.
My first instinct was to grab my coat and run home.
I knew exactly what the house would look like.
Cereal scattered across the floor.
The toddler’s diaper overdue.
The baby red-faced from crying.
My brother trying to act older than twelve because that was what children in our family learned to do.
The investigator saw the decision forming on my face.
“You are not responsible for fixing this,” she said.
“But they need me.”
The words came out before I could stop them.
My mother seized them.
“See? She knows.
Let her come home, and this whole mess ends.”
The investigator turned on her.
“No.
That sentence is the problem.”
She crouched slightly so she was speaking to me, not over me.
