William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
“Can we file an emergency injunction?” I asked.
“We can,” Karen said, “but a judge will want proof of immediate flight risk. Without the physical passport, we cannot prove she has the means to take him out of the state.”
“I checked the safe,” I said. “She took his birth certificate too.”
“She has them hidden somewhere close,” Karen said. “Probably with her mother. We need those documents to prove her intent to the court.”
“I have to teach in ten minutes,” I said, looking at the digital clock on the dashboard.
“Go to your class, William,” Karen said. “But do not let Marsha know you found that folder. We have exactly four days to find where she hid those papers.”
I hung up the phone and leaned my head back against the seat, looking at the gray sky through the windshield.
The blue folder sat on the passenger seat, the glossy cover catching the cold neon light from the parking lot lamp.
I picked it up and stared at the picture of the children marching in their uniforms under the dark pines.
