William Edwards Leaves His Screaming Son on a Friday Afternoon in Hartford
A ten, another ten, a five, and nine ones.
Thirty-four dollars.
The office of Karen Gable, our family law attorney, smelled of stale photocopy toner and winter coats. She did not look up when I sat down at nine o’clock on Wednesday morning, her fingers busy sorting the blue-backed custody pages I had brought from the motel. Her silver pen made a sharp, rhythmic clicking sound against the glass desk protector.
“They used the standard emergency petition under probate code,” Karen said, her voice dry as she slid a page toward me. “They are claiming immediate risk of emotional harm based on your placement history. The court signed off on the temporary removal because of the potential flight risk you represent as an unstructured guardian.”
I adjusted my wire-rimmed glasses, my thumb touching the bridge where the metal had grown cold from the walk. “The scientific literature on attachment shows that separating a child from his primary attachment figure causes immediate cognitive regression, Karen. I am his father.”
