(I should preface this by saying that this particular scene was incredibly difficult to write but, yes, it really did happen, though certain dialogue etc that i was physically not present for has been fictionalized, obviously. I wish I could have written something else, but this is what leapt to mind.)
"I'm doing the right thing." I sighed and pushed a blond lock of hair backwards from my face. I looked in the rear view mirror of my car. The cruiser was right behind me as we pulled up to the ivory colored house. On the outside everything looked so tranquil. So normal. I took a deep breath and got out. Officer Flannigan nodded and patted me on the back. I rang the doorbell.
"Just a minute" I sighed and my hear drops. They don't know I'm coming yet. I'm always nervous at these things. But it's for the best. I have to keep telling myself that otherwise I'll end up second guessing. I can't afford that here. I glanced at the driveway anxiously. Her husband wasn't home. Maybe it would be easier.
"Yes?"
"Mrs. Peterson" My rehearsed lines seemed to literally fall out of my head as I looked at the woman, holding her 6 month old little girl. I coughed and stepped into the house, Officer Flannigan behind me.
"What's going on?"
"Based on the evidence, from your neighbors, doctors, and what I've observed here in your home, I'm coming to collect your children and bring them to foster care, pending a trial."
"What?!?"
"Please. Get the other two children and have them pack some clothes." I looked past her to see the eldest of the children sitting on the stairs. I smiled at her and I was met with the hatred I'd only seen out of grown adults. I reached out to her in vain and she bolted up the stairs, slamming her door.
"I don't understand!" The mother began crying and making mention of something but I could have cared less about her. Her case file had her diagnosed as manic depressive with mild adult ADD, a lifetime of verbal and physical abuse from her deceased father, and a laundry list of other issues. Besides, I've honestly heard most excuses before. As with all my cases, I was far more concerned with the children involved than the parents. I looked over to Officer Flannigan and he nodded, heading upstairs to go get the little girl. The middle child, a boy of 4, was already downstairs, playing quietly, a giant bruise on his forehead, from what they claimed was an accident at church. The mother was packing the two younger childrens' clothes. Officer Flannigan reappeared with the eldest under his arm. She was crying. I had to look away. The mother was yelling but at this point I had almost completely blocked her out. The rest was a blur...
We made it out to my car, the children packed into the back seat, their bags in the trunk. I looked up to the rear view, starring right back at me was the eldest. She starred at me defiantly. She would get over this... Move onto a better life, with a family that treated her well.
"Do you have anything you want to say, Jess?"
"You're a bitch."
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