Chapter 9: The Sunday Assessment
The county family services office smelled of floor wax and stale fluorescent light. Sarah Jenkins sat behind a grey metal desk that was piled high with case files, her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose as she reviewed the pages Dr. Vance had brought. Lily sat quietly in a corner chair, coloring in a Winnie the Pooh book I had bought her at a gas station convenience store, her crayons moving in neat, careful strokes.
“Mr. Hayes,” Sarah Jenkins said, looking up from the papers and folding her hands on the desk. “I’ve read Dr. Vance’s notes regarding the historical incident from Elena’s past, and I’ve interviewed the two patrol officers who responded to your house yesterday morning. Their observations corroborate your account of Mrs. Hayes’s rapid emotional shift.”
“What does this mean for tomorrow’s custody hearing?” I asked, leaning forward.
“It means child welfare is officially recommending an extension of the protective separation, coupled with a mandatory psychological evaluation for Mrs. Hayes before any unsupervised visitation can even be discussed,” Sarah replied. She glanced over at Lily before lowering her voice. “However, I must warn you. Mrs. Hayes’s legal counsel filed a motion an hour ago claiming that you are the one suffering from a paranoid delusion and that you fabricated the kennel incident to seize control of the household assets.”
I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. “Fabricated? The metal kennel is bolted to the concrete slab in our backyard. The neighbors can see it from their kitchen windows.”
“Her lawyer is claiming the kennel was intended for a rescue dog you refused to register,” Sarah said calmly, though a flicker of annoyance crossed her features. “It’s a standard gaslighting defense, Arthur. People with Elena’s psychological profile are masters at inverting the truth to make the victim look unstable. That is why tomorrow morning in Judge Sterling’s courtroom is going to be difficult. You must remain entirely composed. Do not let her bait you.”
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I looked over at Lily, who was humming a little tune to herself as she colored a yellow balloon on the page. The thought of walking into a courtroom and having to defend my sanity against the woman who had terrorized my child made my stomach churn with acid. But I knew I couldn't afford to break. For five years, I had kept quiet to keep the peace. That silence had nearly cost my daughter her safety.
“I won’t take the bait,” I said, my voice steady. “Tell me what documents Judge Sterling needs to see.”
