Chapter 2: The Pediatric Report
Dr. Aris Vance—no relation to Richard, thank God—pushed his wire-rimmed glasses up his nose and slid the medical clipboard across the stainless-steel examination table. The morning sun filtered through the frosted glass of the clinic window, casting long, pale stripes across the sterile linoleum.
“Physically, she’s malnourished in terms of caloric consistency, Mrs. Vance,” Dr. Aris said, his voice quiet so Lily couldn't hear over the coloring books scattered across the chair. “And the bruising on her upper arms matches the dimensions of adult fingers. But the psychological profile is where the mandatory reporting laws kick in hard.”
I looked over at Lily, who was meticulously coloring a duck yellow, entirely silent except for the scratch of the crayon. In the past twelve hours at my house, she hadn't asked for a television show, hadn't cried once, and jumped every time the refrigerator hummed too loudly.
“Richard called it sensory conditioning,” I said, tasting bitterness at the back of my tongue.
“It’s systematic psychological torture,” the doctor corrected gently, signing three separate carbon-copy forms with a sharp scratch. “He’s treated that child like an inventory item in an experimental facility. The county social worker, a woman named Hayes, has already been notified from my terminal. She’ll be conducting an in-home assessment by noon.”
By the time we returned to my quiet, sunlit living room, Ms. Hayes was already waiting on the front porch. She was a sharp-eyed woman in a sensible gray trench coat, holding a heavy leather briefcase. She didn't waste time with pleasantries as she stepped inside, smelling faintly of peppermint tea and damp wool.
“Mrs. Vance, I’ve reviewed the police report from last night and Dr. Aris’s preliminary intake notes,” Ms. Hayes said, sitting at my kitchen table and opening her files. “We are opening an active child welfare investigation into Richard and Claire Vance. Based on the enclosure specifications alone, a judge will likely grant an emergency injunction within forty-eight hours.”
May you like
“And Claire?” I asked, pouring her a cup of black coffee.
The social worker paused, her pen hovering over a grid of check-boxes. “Your daughter is legally a co-occupant of that residence. Unless she files for independent legal separation and protective custody alongside your petition, she remains legally tied to Richard’s defense strategy. Right now, Mrs. Vance, she’s too terrified to speak.”
