Chapter 2 - The Chair Wedged Under the Knob
Officer Rivera shoved the heavy wooden chair away from the door with his boot. The frame groaned as he turned the brass handle and pulled the door open.
The room was pitch black. Lorraine had taped heavy cardboard over the single window, shutting out every ray of the afternoon sunlight. The air inside smelled stagnant, thick with the scent of old fabric, dust, and dried tears.
“Mia!” I screamed, breaking past Officer Grant’s outstretched arm.
Sitting in the far corner of the hardwood floor, curled into a tiny ball between two dressmaker mannequins, was my little girl. She was shivering violently despite the summer heat, her face streaked with dirt and dried snot. The yellow strawberry shirt was soaked in sweat. When the light from the hallway hit her swollen eyes, she shielded her face with both hands and let out a terrified shriek.
“Baby, it’s Mommy! It’s Mommy!” I fell to my knees, sliding across the dusty floorboards, and pulled her into my arms.
She clung to my neck with a grip so fierce it took my breath away. Her tiny body was trembling, her heartbeat hammering against my collarbone like a trapped sparrow. “Mommy, Grandma got mad... Grandma locked the door,” she whimpered into my hair, her voice raspy from hours of crying. “She said Rosie was bad. She threw Rosie away.”
Officer Grant knelt beside us, his radio crackling with incoming calls for medical evaluation. “Little one, did anyone hurt you? Did anyone touch you?” he asked gently.
Mia shook her head, burying her face deeper into my scrub top. “No... Grandma packed the big bags. She had the shiny papers. She said we were going on a plane without Mommy, but I cried for Rosie. Then she got mad and put me in the dark box room.”
My blood ran ice cold. The big bags? The shiny papers?
Just then, the front door rattled open, and heavy footsteps stormed down the hallway.
“What the hell is going on here?!” Jackson’s voice boomed before he appeared in the doorway. He was breathing heavily, his tie loosened, eyes wide in disbelief as he saw two uniformed police officers standing in his mother’s sewing room. “Emily, why are the cops here? Where is my mom? Why did you break her door down?”
He didn’t ask if Mia was okay. He didn’t drop to his knees to comfort his sobbing child. His first instinct, as always, was defending the sanctity of his mother’s home.
Officer Rivera stood up, his towering frame blocking Jackson from stepping closer. “Sir, step back. Are you the homeowner?”
“No, I’m her son!” Jackson snapped, looking past Rivera to me. “Emily, you are out of your mind! You called the police on my mother? She probably just ran to the store!”
“Look at the chair, Jackson!” I screamed, tears finally spilling over my cheeks. I pointed a shaking finger at the heavy wooden chair lying on the hallway floor. “Look at that chair! Your mother wedged it under this door from the outside! She trapped our three-year-old daughter in a pitch-black room and abandoned her!”
Jackson blinked, staring at the chair, but his face hardened into stubborn denial. “There has to be a mistake. Mom wouldn’t do that. Mia probably locked herself in by accident, and Mom went to get help—”
“From the outside?” Officer Grant interrupted, his tone sharp and devoid of patience. “A three-year-old wedged a heavy oak chair beneath the exterior doorknob from the outside and then teleported inside? Sir, look at your daughter.”
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Jackson looked at Mia, whose little hands were still clutching my shirt so hard her knuckles were white. For a second, guilt flickered across his face, but he quickly masked it. “Mom had an emergency. She must have panicked. Emily, let’s handle this as a family before you ruin Mom’s life.”
“Your mother abandoned our child in a dark room and fled the county,” I said, standing up with Mia wrapped securely in my arms. “This isn’t a family dispute anymore, Jackson. It’s a felony.”
