Love and Sorrow (Small Town Secrets Book 5), стр. 57
Suddenly, it felt like a vice was clamping itself on my heart.
“What can I do right now?”
I felt some relief that we’d moved beyond the threats and were now back at a healthier version of coparenting. “There’s nothing I can think of. I’ll let you know.”
“If I could get my hands on that guy—”
“Yeah, I know. I just hope the law moves quickly.” Rotting in hell would be too good for that man.
“I’m sorry I can’t be there. Please keep me up to date. And tell Sarah I love her.” That was the tone I’d been hoping for and it helped me be kinder as well.
“I will. Sorry I had to tell you all this.”
“I wouldn’t forgive you if you hadn’t.” I knew that, too.
After promising to call him as soon as anything new developed, I jumped in the shower to get ready for Sarah’s appointment with Child Protection. On our way there, Sarah actually spoke. “Did you tell my dad?”
“Yeah, honey. I hope that’s okay.”
“I guess.”
“He loves you, honey. He wishes he could be here with you right now.”
“I’m kinda glad he’s not. It’s embarrassing.”
As much as I hated to think that way, I banked her statement in my head just the same. My daughter didn’t want to tell her father about what had happened—another reason why she needed to stay with me. But that didn’t change the fact that I needed to try to be a good mother and not say shit about her dad. “I know, sweetie. He just wants you to know you have his support and love.”
We drove the rest of the way in silence, soon arriving at the building Rebecca’s secretary had sent us to. Fortunately, Rebecca was waiting for us in the lobby when we got there, and she asked Sarah if she was ready. My daughter, brave and strong, nodded resolutely.
It wasn’t long before we were led in the back by a woman slightly older than I. After the four of us entered a small conference room, the woman spoke directly to my daughter. “My name is Amy Warner. You can call me Amy. Rebecca and I work together sometimes. You must be Sarah.” Then she turned her attention to me. “And you must be Randi.” The woman was wearing navy blue from head to toe, a business pantsuit. A little white blouse peeked out at the top, just enough to break up the monotony of darkness—but her pale face and light blonde hair pulled into a severe bun made her dark clothes seem somehow appropriate for this somber occasion. Her soft, light voice didn’t quite match the way she looked. “Please have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the chairs nearest us that circled a long table.
When she asked if any of us wanted anything to drink, I wanted to scream at her to get to the point—but then I realized that easing in might be better for Sarah. When Amy sat down, she seemed to switch gears and once more began talking directly to my daughter. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Sarah, I have this video camera over here. If it’s okay with you and your mom, I would like to record our conversation today. If not, I’ll just take notes.”
Sarah asked, “Who will see it?”
“As few people as possible, actually. We’ll mainly use it for court or for the police. Usually, when something like this happens, they have a trial. If we tape your testimony as evidence, sometimes the judge won’t make you testify in person unless you want to.” Although her main focus was on Sarah, she kept glancing at me as well. “Both ways have their advantages, but I personally think it’s better when you don’t have to testify, because the defendant’s lawyer can be pretty brutal sometimes.”
“Brutal?” I asked. “Brutal how?”
“They try to twist around what happened. Some lawyers try to pin the blame on the victim.”
“No. That can’t happen.”
“That’s why I’d like to videotape today’s interview. I’d like to avoid that scenario if possible.”
But that wasn’t my choice. “It’s up to Sarah.”
The three of us looked at her, allowing her to decide, until she finally nodded her head. “It’s okay.”
Then, quickly, Amy set up the recorder before sitting down with a sheet of paper. At the same time, she handed me several forms to fill out, and while I completed the paperwork, she asked Sarah to tell her story.
I was grateful I had something to keep me busy…because hearing her story again made me break down in tears.
When all was said and done—camera off, paperwork collected, Sarah silent again—Amy said, “Children rarely lie about this sort of thing. If a child says she’s been sexually abused and then relates the story in graphic detail like Sarah has, we believe the abuse occurred. There is no doubt.”
I myself hadn’t doubted it. It hadn’t occurred to me to not believe my child—and that was probably why she’d slowly withdrawn: the truth was too horrifying for words, too gruesome to speak. Again, I was grateful that I’d taken Sarah to see a psychologist, because she already seemed to be recovering just by being able to talk about it.
“I’ll be speaking with the Police Department later today and then I’ll be in touch. You can come to any court proceedings you wish, but I’m going to do my best to ensure you don’t have to come to court if you don’t want to. Child Protection will represent your interests.”
“As long as Sarah is protected. I don’t want her hurt anymore.”
But