Despite myself, I almost laughed.
The tension in the hallway loosened.
Then Officer Daniels grew serious again.
“Maya’s father, Daniel Ortiz, came home after midnight. He saw the chair. Maya told him what happened. She also told him something else.”
“What?”
“She told him Julian had stopped an incident at school yesterday afternoon.”
I turned toward my son.
His expression changed.
It was tiny.
Just a downward movement of his eyes.
But mothers learn the language of tiny things.
“Julian?”
He remained silent.
Officer Cooper answered for him.
“Apparently Maya was leaving school through the west corridor when her old wheelchair locked completely.”
Julian swallowed.
“It wasn’t a big deal.”
“What happened?”
“Mom—”
“What happened?”
His shoulders slumped.
“The front caster snapped.”
My stomach tightened.
“While she was in it?”
He nodded.
“She tipped.”
I stared at him.
“Was she hurt?”
“No. I caught the chair.”
Officer Daniels gently corrected him.
