William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
The application for temporary custody was based almost entirely on my state welfare records from thirty years ago. Marsha had compiled every incident report, every placement transfer, and every evaluation from my time in the state’s custody. The papers described me as a product of a chronically unstable environment, suggesting that my psychological training was a shield to hide my own unresolved trauma.
I read the words Sue Melton had signed under oath, claiming that Owen exhibited signs of severe emotional distress whenever he was left alone with me. She wrote that I was projecting my own childhood abuse onto a normal family structure.
I looked at the thin paper in my hands, my chest tightening as the legal language reduced my entire adult life to a series of diagnostic labels. They had taken my son, they had taken my home, and they had taken every dollar I had earned to keep him safe.
How was I going to prove Sue’s home was unsafe before the Friday enrollment date?
I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled bills, laying them out on the nightstand one by one.
