Chapter 3 - The Hospital and the Threat
The ambulance ride to the Phoenix Children's Hospital was a blur of flashing red lights and the sterile smell of medical equipment. Hailey sat on my lap, her hands wrapped in cool, sterile dressings. The paramedic, a kind man named Marcus, gave her a small stuffed bear to hold, which she clutched tightly with her elbows.
"You're very brave, Hailey," Marcus told her gently. He looked up at me with a solemn expression. "The burns are localized to the pads of her fingers. It’s consistent with contact burns from a flat, heated surface. I've noted it in the report for the state's child welfare agency."
"Thank you," I choked out, tears finally spilling over my eyelids. The adrenaline was beginning to wear off, leaving behind a cold, hollow dread.
At the hospital, a pediatric specialist examined Hailey's hands. Thankfully, the doctor confirmed that while the burns were painful and would require specialized dressings and antibiotic ointment, there would be no permanent nerve damage.
As Hailey finally drifted off to sleep in the hospital bed, exhausted from the pain and trauma, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Derek.
You have made the biggest mistake of your life, Paige. If you push this child abuse angle, I will ruin you. I will hire the best lawyers money can buy. I will tell the court you are unstable, that you self-harm, and that you are using Hailey to get more child support. Drop the charges, or I will take Hailey away from you forever. You won't even be allowed supervised visits.
My hands shook as I read the message. A wave of familiar panic washed over me. During our marriage, Derek had spent years gaslighting me, making me believe I was crazy, weak, and incapable of surviving without him. He had the backing of his wealthy family, while I worked a modest job as a graphic designer, scraping by to pay the rent on my apartment.
I looked at Hailey's peaceful, sleeping face. I looked at the white bandages wrapping her tiny fingers.
No, I thought, a sudden, fierce strength hardening inside my chest. Not this time. I am not the frightened girl he married. I am her mother.
I took a screenshot of the text message. Then, I forwarded it directly to the email address Officer Vance had given me for the police report. I also sent it to my divorce attorney, Sarah Jenkins, with a simple message: They hurt her. We are going to war.
An hour later, the door to the hospital room opened quietly. It wasn't Derek or a police officer. It was a woman in a sharp business suit, carrying a leather briefcase.
"Paige Vance?" she asked quietly.
May you like
"Yes," I said, sitting up.
"My name is Detective Evelyn Ramirez with the Family Investigations Unit. And I am the one who is going to help you put Miriam Vance behind bars."
