She pointed outside.
There was a sliding bolt.
Mounted on the hallway side.
Not inside.
My hand went instinctively toward my radio.
Then I stopped.
I needed facts.
I asked.
“Do you get food?”
“Sometimes.”
“Water?”
“Yes.”
“Bathroom?”
She looked at the bucket.
My stomach turned.
I stepped outside.
Brenna followed.
I closed the door.
Not because it needed closing.
Because I did not want to look at it anymore.
My backup arrived then.
Officer Maya Singh.
Ten years on the job.
Excellent with children.
She stepped inside.
Took one look at my face.
Then at Brenna.
“What do we have?”
I said.
“Potential child welfare issue.”
I showed her the lists.
The room.
The bolt.
Her expression changed.
She quietly radioed for a supervisor.
Then child protective services.
Brenna suddenly panicked.
“No.”
I crouched.
“What?”
“You said just one officer.”
“I know.”
“But more people may need to help.”
Her eyes filled.
“Dad will know.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll say I lied.”
I looked at her.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll document everything.”
She shook her head.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“He has papers.”
“What papers?”
“From doctors.”
That changed things.
“What kind of doctors?”
“He says I have behavior problems.”
I stared.
“Do you?”
She shrugged.
“Sometimes I talk.”
The answer hit me like a fist.
