Chapter 4 - The Arrest and the Divide
By the time the police supervisor, Sergeant Davis, arrived, I had already sent the crime scene photos to my personal email and a secure cloud drive. I stood on the driveway, watching as neighbors peered over their fences, whispering to one another. The perfect image my parents had spent forty years building was crumbling in real-time.
Sergeant Davis knew me. We had worked together on several high-profile domestic violence cases when I was with the DA's office. He walked up to me, his expression grave.
"Rebecca. I'm so sorry. How is the little girl?"
"She’s on her way to Memorial Medical Center. Head trauma. She was seizing, Davis. It’s bad." I kept my voice flat, holding back the scream that wanted to escape my throat. "The belt is on the counter. He hit her hard enough to knock her off her feet. I have photos of him holding the weapon immediately afterward."
Davis nodded, his jaw set. "We'll handle it. I’ve already called the on-duty detective. Your father is going to jail tonight."
"And my mother and sister?" I asked. "They witnessed the entire thing. They actively encouraged it and tried to cover it up when the officer arrived. I want their statements taken under penalty of perjury."
"We'll get them," Davis promised.
I watched through the living room window as Officer Miller placed handcuffs on my father. Gerald’s hands were secured behind his back. He looked furious, shouting something at the officers, but they ignored him, guiding his head down as they placed him in the back of the cruiser.
My mother followed them out onto the porch, her voice screeching in the evening air. "This is ridiculous! He was disciplining his granddaughter! It’s our right! Rebecca, you tell them to stop this right now!"
I didn't answer. I got into my SUV, started the engine, and backed out of the driveway. In my rearview mirror, I saw Vanessa standing on the porch, holding her phone, frantically trying to call someone. Probably a lawyer.
It didn't matter. No lawyer in this county was going to be able to undo what Gerald had done.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of tears and red traffic lights. The cold, analytical prosecutor facade finally broke, and I sobbed, my hands trembling on the steering wheel. Please be okay, Lily. Please, God, let her be okay.
When I arrived at the pediatric ICU, James was sitting in the waiting room, his head in his hands. I rushed to him, and he pulled me into his lap, holding me tightly as we both wept.
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"The doctors are running a CT scan," he whispered into my hair. "They're worried about swelling on the brain. They might have to perform surgery to relieve the pressure."
I squeezed my eyes shut, burying my face in his chest. The legal battle had begun, but the only battle that mattered right now was happening inside my daughter's head.
