Chapter 2 - The Doctor's Verdict
The fluorescent lights of the county hospital waiting room hummed with a sterile, nerve-fraying frequency. Peter Calder stood frozen, his knuckles white as he gripped the back of a plastic chair.
Doctor Harrison cleared his throat, adjusting a manila folder in his hands. The lines around the physician’s eyes etched a deep weariness, but beneath it lay a cold, hard fury that matched the storm brewing in Peter’s chest.
“Mr. Calder,” the doctor repeated quietly, stepping closer so the other waiting families wouldn't overhear. “The X-ray tells us this did not happen today. It shows a fracture that occurred at least three to four weeks ago. And more than that... it didn't heal right because it was never set. It started to knit while he was still walking on it, and then... it was re-injured recently.”
Peter felt the room tilt. The air seemed to thicken, pressing against his lungs until breathing required deliberate effort.
“Re-injured?” Peter’s voice dropped into a dangerous, gravelly whisper. “Are you saying someone broke it again?”
“I’m saying,” Dr. Harrison said, his tone grim and uncompromising, “that the tibia has a fresh fracture superimposed directly over an old, poorly healed break. The child didn't just twist his ankle, Mr. Calder. Someone subjected that leg to blunt force trauma. Weeks ago, and then again recently.”
Images flashed through Peter’s mind with sickening speed. The closed doors. The endless excuses. “They’re asleep.” “They’re sick.” “You remind them too much of their father.”
Reena’s words. Every text message, every brushed-off phone call, every blocked visit suddenly recontextualized themselves into a horror show he had foolishly trusted from a distance. She hadn't been protecting them. She had been hiding them.
“Where is he now?” Peter asked, his jaw locked so tight his teeth ached.
“They’re finishing up the splint in Trauma Bay Two. Child Protective Services has already been notified, per mandatory reporting laws. And Officer Vance is waiting outside the bay for you. They’re going to need your statement to secure an emergency warrant for the residence on Maple Street.”
Peter didn't wait. He turned on his heel and strode down the corridor, his boots clicking sharply against the linoleum.
Outside Trauma Bay Two, a veteran female police officer stood talking in low tones with a social worker. When she saw Peter approach, her eyes softened with a grim sort of pity.
“Mr. Calder?” she asked.
“I’m Peter. That’s my nephew in there.”
“We’ve heard the boy’s statement,” Officer Vance said, flipping open a small notebook. “He told the nurse that his stepmother locks them in the basement for days at a time with limited water, and that his leg broke when... well, when she pushed him down the stairs two nights ago.”
Peter’s vision blurred with red. For three years, he had respected boundaries. He had worried about causing family drama. He had let Reena dictate the terms of his access to his late brother’s children because he wanted to keep the peace.
Peace? Aaron was rolling in his grave.
“She’s going to jail,” Peter said, not a question, but a vow carved in stone. “And those kids are coming home with me tonight.”
“We need a judge’s signature for emergency custody, but given the medical report and the child’s statement, we’ll have it within the hour,” Officer Vance replied, stepping toward the glass doors. “Right now, we’re moving on the house. Are you coming with us, Mr. Calder?”
May you like
Peter looked through the narrow window of the trauma bay. Inside, a nurse was handing Drew a small cup of apple juice. The little boy’s face was pale, his eyes bruised with exhaustion, but he held his sister Lily’s small hand with a fierce, protective grip even while doctors tended to his leg.
“Try and stop me,” Peter whispered.
