Chapter 4 - The Ex-Husband's Ambush
The police cruisers drove away into the dark, leaving my mother standing in the driveway under the glare of the porch lights.
"Clara," my mother whimpered, turning back to me, her voice shifting into a pathetic, desperate whine. "You have to go to the station and drop the charges. Think of Lorraine’s career! Think of what this will do to our family’s reputation!"
"Emma is my family, Mom," I said, turning my back on her. "You made your choice thirty years ago when you decided Lorraine could do no wrong. I'm making mine."
I walked back to my car, got inside, and locked the doors.
Before I could even key the ignition, a heavy SUV pulled up, blocking my Civic from behind.
It was Mark’s black pickup truck.
Mark stepped out, slamming his door so hard the glass rattled. He marched over to my driver’s side window, pounding his fist against the frame.
"Clara! Open the damn door!" Mark yelled, his face red with anger.
I rolled the window down two inches—just enough to speak, but not enough for him to reach inside.
"What do you want, Mark?" I asked coldly.
"What do I want?!" Mark roared, leaning down until his eyes were level with mine. "Lorraine called me thirty minutes ago from the precinct! She said you had her arrested because of some ridiculous accusation! What the hell are you playing at, Clara?!"
"Lorraine struck Emma across the face, Mark," I said, keeping my voice entirely flat. "She left a bruise on her cheek."
"Lorraine says Emma broke an antique vase!" Mark shouted back, refusing to listen. "A five-year-old needs to learn consequences! You’ve been spoiling her since the divorce! I spoke to my lawyer an hour ago—we are filing an emergency ex-parte motion tomorrow morning to revoke your primary custody!"
I looked at Mark—the man I had been married to for four years, the man who had always taken my sister’s side whenever Lorraine criticized my parenting.
I reached into my bag, pulled out a printed 8x10 photograph that Officer Miller had printed for me at the cruiser’s mobile terminal, and pressed it against the glass window.
It was the clear, zoomed-in enhancement of the china cabinet reflection.
It clearly showed Lorraine’s hand struck against Emma’s face, alongside the timestamp and Lorraine’s cell phone metadata header at the top.
Mark’s voice cut off instantly.
He stared at the photograph. The anger on his face drained away, replaced by an awkward, uncomfortable silence as his eyes tracked over the image.
"Mark," I said softly, my voice dripping with icy contempt. "If you file an emergency motion tomorrow morning, I will present this photo to the judge, along with the felony child abuse police report naming you as a recipient of the forged evidence. If you want to lose your visitation rights completely, go right ahead."
May you like
Mark took a step back from my window, his mouth working silently, unable to find a single word.
I rolled up my window, backed my Civic around his truck, and drove away into the night.
