PART 1
The officer looked at me for several seconds after I said it.
“No.”
That one word changed the entire porch.
Mom stopped talking.
The second officer glanced toward the house.
The first one lowered his notebook slightly.
Then he asked me again.
“Are you saying you do not feel safe staying here tonight?”
I swallowed.
My throat hurt.
My hands were still shaking.
But I nodded.
“No.”
Mom immediately stepped forward.
“That is ridiculous.”
The officer raised one hand.
“Ma’am.”
“He is upset.”
“Of course he’s upset.”
“I was gone longer than expected.”
“That does not mean he is unsafe.”
The officer looked at her.
“You were gone for thirty days.”
Mom crossed her arms.
“He is almost twelve.”
I stared at her.
Almost twelve.
As if one birthday could magically transform an eleven-year-old into an adult.
The officer asked.
“Where did you go?”
Mom sighed.
“Florida.”
“For thirty days?”
“I had plans.”
“What kind of plans?”
“That is private.”
The officer’s face changed.
Not angry.
Just colder.
Then he asked.
“Who was responsible for your son while you were gone?”
Mom pointed toward me.
“He was responsible for himself.”
The officer wrote something down.
For the first time, my mother seemed to understand that her answers were not helping.
