This post is going to suck. It's hard and emotional to write this and I've avoided it for almost two months because I'm just...dreading it. I'm still dreading it, even as I write this.
So, Brett and I moved to a split custody schedule right around Halloween 2016. It was...tough, but it was more or less working. In June of 2017, I interviewed for and was offered a job with a new company. I was ecstatic! It was closer to home, and while it paid less, offered a ton of opportunities for advancement and came with some pretty amazing benefits. I accepted the position, with a start date of June 19, 2017. (Knowing my start date has allowed me to keep track of the dates involved in this with a surprising amount of accuracy given the amount of time that's elapsed.)
Tuesday June 13th. Brett had had the kids overnight and dropped them off at daycare that day. Shortly after my shift started, I got a phone call from the nurse at Parkway's Early Childhood Center where David was doing half days (the other half being at our regular daycare facility) according to his IEP. She asked about a mark on David's face that hadn't been there the day before. I told her that David had been with his dad the night before and provided her with his phone number so she could call him. As soon as I got off the phone with her, I called Brett myself to ask him about it. He told me that one of the cats had scratched David's face and there was a rash, like an allergic reaction. I accepted his explanation and told him to expect the nurse's phone call.
I was surprised when a while later, I got a phone call from a Child Services worker who went by CJ. He explained there had been a report filed about the mark on David. I told him what I'd told the nurse, that the kids had been with Brett. We set up a home visit for later that week, and he went to Brett's for a home visit that night. Everything seemed more or less okay. The daycare sent me a picture of David a little later that day.
As I stared at this huge mark on the side of his face, all I could think was, "Oh my God, that looks like a handprint." The palm covers the majority of his cheek, the thumb extending along the jawline. There's a slight gap to the right of his eye in a sort of diagonal direction that looks like it would account for the joints right where the fingers meet the hand, with the fingers then extending up into the hairline. I asked David what had happened, and he just looked at me before quietly saying, "He did it." Amy immediately jumped in with "Monte scratched him, Dad said Monte scratched him!" I thanked them both and we proceeded with dinner.
Later that evening when I was putting the kids to bed, I asked David again. What happened, buddy? He hesitated. "Monte scratched me." David, that's not a scratch on your face. What happened? He hesitated again. "He did it." Who did it? "Daddy did it." Silence from me. How the hell was I supposed to respond to that??
Once I saw it, though, I couldn't un-see it. But I justified the hell out of it. I had to be imagining it. Brett would NEVER do that. It was just not possible. It had to have been an accident. It just...just no. I refused to believe what was in front of my face. When CJ came for my home visit that Friday, I flat out told him that I firmly believed Brett would never harm one of our children and there had to be an explanation.
One of the questions that did come up in that visit was if Brett should still have the kids that weekend as previously scheduled. I very directly asked CJ if it should still be allowed or if he recommended I keep the kids. His response was that he saw no reason to keep the kids from their father, so I unquestioningly went along with it. Error #2.
Sunday evening, June 18th, I got a call from Brett around 7pm. One of my partners at the time was over and heard my half of the conversation as Brett told me he'd "noticed" a bruise on David's hand and wrist that he wasn't sure what caused it, but guessed he'd hit it on something at the park earlier that day. I felt pretty panicky, and asked him to make sure he documented it and sent me a picture since we were technically still under investigation by CS. He responded that David was asleep and he didn't want to wake him. I shrugged it off and we hung up, but I just had this sinking feeling as I sat outside on the porch. I texted him, insisting that he really needed to take a picture, and that even though it seemed kinda silly, he should really take David in to the pediatrician Monday morning just to cover our collective rear ends. He refused to take David to the doctor, but about 45 minutes later texted me a picture saying it had taken him that long because David was still awake and he didn't want to keep him up.
Because of the flash from Brett's camera phone, it's a bit difficult to see the extent of this, and I don't have a digital copy of the one they ended up taking later. But there was clear bruising and a great deal of swelling to the radial side of his right hand and wrist.
I was shocked. I had photographic evidence of 2 different incidents in less than a week of David turning up with mysterious, unexplained bruises while at his dad's. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, and dialed the number for CJ's cell phone. I explained what Brett had told me and our interaction on the phone, the odd and directly conflicting reasons for not sending me a picture, and then...the picture he finally texted me. I told him that I still didn't want to think the worst, but that I was definitely concerned. He asked me to text him the picture, and I did. He immediately told me that he'd have to talk with his supervisor, but that I should be prepared because they may need me to take David to the hospital on Monday just to get checked out and to document the marks.
The next day, Monday, was my very first day of my new job. Training isn't really enjoyable for any job, I think, but I was excited about the newness of the material.
Around 10am, I got my first call from CJ telling me he was talking with his supervisor, that they were definitely concerned, and that I should be on standby for further instructions. I told him I would do whatever they needed me to. Around 11am, I got my second call from him, telling me that they were extremely concerned, and that I needed to either take David to one of a couple hospitals immediately, or they would send an ambulance for him. I agreed to pick him up and take him to Cardinal Glennon (one of 2 area children's hospitals with a team that specializes in suspected abuse cases). We hung up.
I nervously approached my trainer, who I'd known for all of 3 hours, and told him that there was an emergency and I needed to take my son to the hospital. Honestly, I half expected to be told not to bother coming back. Instead, he just looked at me expectantly and asked, "Why are we still talking about this?? Go take care of your son! We'll see you tomorrow or whenever you get back. Go." I legit ran out of the building and sped to the daycare, explaining to David that with his owies the past few days we just wanted to make sure he was okay, so we were going to go see some special doctors. He was pretty nonplussed and went along with it. Olivia remained there at the daycare and Amy was at summer camp at the nearby YMCA.
While I took David to the ER at Cardinal Glennon, CJ took a police officer (or two?) to go talk to Amy about what had happened. He had asked me during one of our phone calls if I thought she would tell the truth when asked about the incident. I thought for a minute and responded that in all honesty, if she thought she was going to get someone she cared about in trouble, she would probably lie. I'd seen it many times before with her siblings. I told him that generally, when she was clearly trying to feed me a line, I would remind her that it's important to be truthful and that she won't get in trouble for telling the truth. According to his report, she was definitely being rather fanciful at first. He eventually asked her if she knew the difference between a lie and the truth, and she said yes and then told him she'd been lying. When asked for the truth, she told him that David had gotten in trouble and was supposed to be sitting on the couch, but that he wasn't listening, Dad got mad, and then hit him. She mimicked the motion of hitting someone, and pointed to her wrist when asked where David was hit.
At the ER, we were quickly checked in. A doctor and a couple of nurses came in and talked to us, taking a number of pictures to document the marks on David. As part of their protocol for suspected abuse cases, they had David and I talk separately with a specially trained social worker. After the discussions we had, CJ called again, asking me to bring David to the University City Police Department to talk with the officers there.
By this point, Brett had evidently called the daycare to check on David, only to be told he wasn't there. (I had been advised not to tell Brett I'd taken him to the hospital.) He repeatedly berated and threatened me for taking David, and threatened me with legal action if I didn't tell him where we were and give him access to David. I was advised not to disclose where we were, so I told him that David was safe, I was getting him checked out, and that I was complying with requests from Child Services. David and I met with a detective from UCPD. We talked for a while and they eventually took me into a legit interrogation room (scary cement, video recorders, the whole terrifying nine yards) and asked me a bunch of questions and took a statement.
It was incredibly intimidating. I maintained that I had a hard time believing Brett would intentionally harm one of our kids, that he had never been physically abusive with me or the kids while we'd been together, and that while he certainly had a temper and could be physically intimidating, he had never laid a hand on any of us. I just...didn't know how else to explain the marks on David. The cognitive dissonance was very strong. I just could not reconcile my knowledge of who Brett was with the idea of him hurting David. That was not the Brett I knew. That wasn't the man I married, or the man I had children with. Someone (can't remember who, there were 3 or 4 people in and out) pointed out that, well, he wasn't the man I married anymore. How well did I know him at this point?
And that really floored me. Because, well...yeah. The man I married and had children with would never have cheated on me, would never have walked away from our family. And yet he had. How well did I really know him anymore? It had been over 2 years since we'd separated. I grudgingly admitted that while I didn't want to believe it, I didn't have a better explanation, and that I was genuinely concerned for the kids, particularly for David. I had to explain that while we'd been separated for quite some time, we did not have a legally binding custody arrangement. That worried both the detective and CJ. CJ had already spoken with Brett and told him that they were putting in place a "safety plan" that specifically said I should have custody of the children until they concluded their investigation. The detective recommended under the circumstances that I file an order of protection on behalf of the children. I balked at that. I knew what a restraining order was. It sounded incredibly harsh, but they explained that it was really the only thing at that point that would give me grounds to do what I needed to in order to protect the kids.(Side note: Brett was asked to come down and answer questions just like I had. It was only after his refusal that the detective advised me to file the order. When he eventually did go, many days later, the police documented that he was belligerent and evasive, and tried to get a warrant to arrest him for abusing David.)
So I filed it. We scrambled to complete the paperwork and fax it to the court before 5pm. A judge signed the ex parte order (temporary/emergency order) and set a court date. I had immediate, full custody of the kids until further notice.
I was a mess. My world was crashing down around me. All I could think was, No. No no no no no. Not this. Not him. Not my child.
I'm not an idiot. I know there are all sorts of statistics on the cycle of abuse. The abused often becomes the abuser. And I had been so terrified of that for so long that despite desperately wanting to be a mother, I seriously considered not having kids. I was terrified that, regardless of the years of therapy, somehow I would continue the cycle. When I decided to go ahead and to trust that I could be a good parent, I swore to myself that I would be the mother I should have had.
I would be the mother I should have had.
I would fight for my children. Boldly. Aggressively. Unceasingly. I would protect them at any and all cost, against anyone I needed to. And yeah, maybe I would fail, but it would not be for lack of trying, and there wouldn't be a soul alive who could look at it and think I should've done more.
And so as I sat there in the police station, all I could think was, no. Not this time. NOT MY CHILD.
And I signed the paperwork for the order of protection.
Next: The Circus Begins, or I'm Really Tired of Going to Court
