William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
“An administrative suspension of a military nurse at a state facility does not automatically make her an unfit grandmother for a five-year-old,” Karen said, her voice rapid and precise.
She clicked her pen again, the metallic sound sharp against the clatter of heavy ceramic mugs behind the diner counter.
“The court views grandmothers as natural caretakers,” she added, her manicured nails tapping against her leather purse. “Without proof of immediate harm to Owen, a judge will not sign an emergency order to block her weekend visits.”
“He was screaming when I left him on Friday,” I said, my voice rising slightly before I caught myself. “He has never screamed like that, Karen. He was shaking.”
“Screaming at drop-off is common,” she said, looking at me over her small reading glasses. “We need something physical, or a clear threat of relocation. Is your wife planning to move him?”
“No,” I said, thinking of Marsha’s sharp voice in the kitchen. “She said the twelve thousand dollars from our savings was a routine enrollment deposit for a private school.”
