Chapter 5: What She Had Already Done
We didn't speak much on the drive home.
James kept both hands on the wheel.
Emma slept in her car seat behind us, her breathing slow and even, completely unaware of what had just been said about her on a frozen lawn on Christmas night.
I watched the streetlights pass.
"She's already made the call," I said.
James glanced at me.
"You don't know that."
"She was going to report me to child services.
Dad said she hadn't done it yet — as of six months ago.
That's six months of opportunity." I turned to look at him.
"She hjt Emma tonight in front of witnesses and didn't flinch.
That's not someone who's afraid of consequences.
That's someone who thinks she's already protected herself."
James was quiet for a moment.
"Then we find out."
We got Emma settled at home just after ten.
She went down easily, exhausted from the evening's noise and emotion.
I stood over her crib for a long moment after she fell asleep, watching her chest rise and fall.
James appeared in the doorway.
"Come sit down."
We sat at the kitchen table with two cups of tea that went cold while we talked.
"First thing tomorrow," James said, "I'm calling a family lawyer.
Not to threaten anyone.
Just to understand where we stand."
"If she's already filed a report, there could be a caseworker assigned.
There could be notes.
There could be a file with my name on it that I don't even know exists."
"Then we find out and we respond to it." He reached across the table.
"Claire.
You are a good mother.
Emma is healthy, loved, and safe.
Whatever Lauren has said or filed or told anyone — the truth is visible.
It's in every well-child checkup.
It's in every photograph.
It's in that little girl sleeping in the next room."
I wrapped both hands around my mug.
"She planned this.
She didn't just say something cruel to Dad in a moment of anger.
She built a case.
She chose details.
She timed it."
"I know."
"She's been doing this since before Emma was born."
"I know."
I looked up at him.
"James, she hjt her.
Tonight, in front of everyone, she hjt a six-month-old baby.
And the first thing I thought when Dad stopped us at the door was that maybe there was something even worse underneath.
And there was." My voice dropped.
"What else is there that we don't know yet?"
He didn't answer.
Not because he didn't care.
Because he didn't know either.
The next morning, James called a lawyer named Patricia Holt, who had been recommended by a colleague at the base.
She had a calm, direct manner and she listened without interrupting.
When James finished, she was quiet for a moment.
"Has your daughter had any contact with child protective services that you're aware of?" she asked.
"No," James said.
"Not that we know of."
"I can make some inquiries.
If a report was filed, there will be a record.
You have the right to know if your family is under any kind of open investigation." A pause.
"Captain Walker, the incident last night — the physical contact with your daughter — were there witnesses?"
"Six adults in the room."
"Any of them willing to make a statement?"
James looked at me.
"Her father," I said.
"Possibly."
"Get that in writing if you can," Patricia said.
"And document the injury.
If there's any visible mark, photograph it today."
We checked Emma's cheek after the call.
There was a faint redness, already fading.
James photographed it anyway.
I wrote down the time, the location, who was present, exactly what was said.
I wrote it all down while it was still sharp.
Two days after Christmas, Patricia called back.
"A report was filed," she said.
"Eight weeks ago.
Anonymous.
But the details in it are specific enough that it wasn't a stranger."
Eight weeks ago.
Emma had been four months old.
"What did it say?" I asked.
"Neglect concerns.
Infant left unattended for extended periods.
Primary caregiver showing signs of emotional instability." A pause.
"The case was reviewed and marked low-priority.
No active investigation was opened.
But the file exists."
I sat down on the kitchen floor.
I didn't plan to.
My legs just stopped.
"Claire?" Patricia's voice came through the phone.
"This is manageable.
I want you to hear that clearly.
This is manageable."
I pressed my back against the cabinet.
Eight weeks ago, Lauren had filed a report on me.
And then she had shown up at Christmas dinner and hjt my daughter and told everyone to calm down.
"What do we do?" I asked.
May you like
"We respond," Patricia said.
"And then we make sure she can never do this again."
