Chapter 2 - The blue folder
Millicent’s first answer was not an answer.
“You attacked me.”
I stared at her.
A park employee had arrived.
Then another.
The woman from the bench remained beside Silas.
I looked at her.
“What’s your name?”
“Keira Bolton.”
“Did you call someone?”
“Yes. The park office. They called police when you two started fighting.”
Fair.
My mother stood.
“You see? Gideon is out of control.”
I almost moved toward her again.
Stopped.
The image of Silas watching me shove her had already registered.
Enough.
I bent and put one hand on his shoulder.
“You stay with me.”
“Okay.”
Two police officers arrived within minutes.
Officer Danielle Price.
Officer Marcus Bell.
They separated everyone.
Price spoke to me first.
“Did you push Ms. Fairmont?”
“Yes.”
She blinked slightly at the speed of my answer.
“Why?”
“She shoved my son into the mud. Then I learned she had been breaking his toys. She reached toward his bag again.”
“Was she striking him when you pushed her?”
“No.”
“Was she moving toward him?”
“She reached for his backpack.”
“Did you believe she was about to hurt him?”
I took a breath.
“At first, yes.”
“At the moment you forced her down?”
I knew what she was asking.
My anger mattered.
“I was furious.”
Price nodded.
No judgment.
Just record.
That distinction would become important.
Then she asked about the SUV.
“Whose vehicle?”
“Millicent’s.”
“Your relationship?”
“My mother.”
“Are the items visible in the trunk your son’s?”
“Yes.”
“Did you authorize her to take them?”
“No.”
“Does she have access to your residence?”
“Yes.”
“Key?”
“Yes.”
“Permission to remove anything?”
I hesitated.
“Some outgrown clothes. She offered to help sort them last week.”
Price wrote.
Not good.
Not fatal.
Truth.
Millicent consented to officers looking into the already-open rear cargo area.
She kept saying:
“There is nothing illegal.”
Inside the SUV were eight large bags.
One laundry basket.
A small suitcase.
Silas’s pillow.
His comforter.
Books.
Shoes.
Clothes that fit.
Clothes that did not.
His stuffed wolf.
His nightlight.
A framed photograph of Amanda holding him as a baby.
Then Officer Bell found something wedged beneath the suitcase.
A blue folder.
He did not open it immediately.
“Ms. Fairmont, what is this?”
She looked.
Her face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“Personal papers.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
“Related to the child?”
Silence.
Price looked at me.
Then back at Millicent.
“We are not searching documents without appropriate legal basis or consent. Do you consent to us opening the folder?”
“No.”
Good.
That was her right.
No magical police search because I was angry.
Bell left it in place.
Then asked:
“Why are you transporting the child’s bedroom property?”
Millicent crossed her arms.
“Because he needed it.”
“For what?”
“A temporary program.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“What program?”
Price raised a hand toward me.
“Mr. Fairmont.”
I stopped.
Millicent looked at the officer.
“An assessment program.”
“For Silas?”
“Yes.”
“Did his father authorize this?”
“He knew I had concerns.”
My stomach dropped.
That was not what she had been asked.
Price repeated:
“Did Gideon Fairmont authorize you to take Silas to a program today?”
Millicent stared at the pavement.
“No.”
Silas tugged my sleeve.
“What program?”
I knelt.
“Adult stuff.”
“Am I going somewhere?”
“No.”
Immediate.
No negotiation.
“No.”
His shoulders dropped.
Behind us, Millicent said:
“You don’t even know what it is.”
I stood.
“I know I didn’t agree.”
“You never agree to anything that might actually help him.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Because it told me the bags were not random.
May you like
The park had not been one bad afternoon.
My mother had arrived with a plan.
