I shook my head.
“You protected us when it mattered.”
He looked at our son.
Then he looked toward the hospital door.
“No one gets to use him to hurt you again.”
This time, I believed him.
We left the hospital together with our baby between us.
Behind us were the reports, the photographs, the notebook and the family members who would now have to live with what they had done.
Ahead of us was something much harder than proving who had been right.
We had to decide who could still be trusted around our child.
And that decision would not be made because someone cried, apologized or shared our blood.
It would be made by what they did next.
