Chapter 7: Donna Marsh Finds Out
Renata filed the formal complaint on a Tuesday.
By Thursday afternoon, Donna Marsh called my cell phone.
I was in the school pickup line when it rang.
I looked at the number — agency line, one I recognized from the adoption paperwork — and I answered.
"Ellen." Her voice was warm.
Practiced.
"I'm so glad I caught you.
I was hoping we could talk."
"Of course," I said.
"I've been made aware of some concerns that have been raised — I think there may have been some misunderstanding about Luke's history, and I'd love the chance to sit down and clear things up.
For Luke's sake, obviously.
These kinds of disruptions can be very unsettling for kids who've already had a difficult road."
She was using Luke as the concern.
I kept my voice even.
"I appreciate that.
What kind of misunderstanding?"
"Well, I think some of the documentation in his file may have been misread.
Context matters so much in these cases.
A child who has experienced repeated placement disruption can sometimes develop — coping patterns — that look concerning on paper but are really just responses to instability." A brief pause.
"I'd hate for anyone to draw the wrong conclusions."
"What conclusions are you worried about?"
A beat of silence.
Just one.
"I've given fourteen years to this agency, Ellen.
Fourteen years of genuinely trying to protect children.
I would hate to see that work undermined by — incomplete information." The warmth in her voice had cooled by one degree.
"I think if we talked in person, woman to woman, I could help you understand the full picture."
"I'd like that," I said.
"Can you bring Luke's original file?
The unedited version, with the original timestamps?"
The line was quiet for three full seconds.
"I'm not sure what you mean by that."
"The audit logs," I said.
"From six years ago.
The ones that show three entries added to Luke's file after the placement disruptions were already recorded.
The ones authored under your account."
Nothing.
"Donna.
I have copies."
"I think," she said, and her voice had changed entirely now — flatter, more careful — "that you should speak with an attorney before you make any more accusations."
"I already have one," I said.
"She filed the complaint two days ago."
The call ended.
Luke was at the car window.
He pulled open the door and got in, dropping his backpack on the floor.
"You okay?" he asked.
He was watching my face.
"Marsh just called me."
He went very still.
"What did she say?"
"She tried to warn me off.
Politely." I pulled out of the line.
"It didn't work."
He was quiet for a moment.
"She's going to try something," he said.
"She always does."
"I know," I said.
"We're ready."
I believed that when I said it.
May you like
I stopped believing it forty minutes later, when Renata called to tell me that someone had contacted the agency's board of directors and filed a counter-complaint — alleging that I was an unstable adoptive parent attempting to coach a troubled child into making false allegations, and requesting an emergency review of Luke's placement.
They were trying to take him.
