Chapter 8: What She Was Willing to Do
Renata's voice was controlled, but only just.
"The counter-complaint was filed anonymously," she said.
"But the language mirrors Marsh's standard phrasing almost exactly.
Whoever wrote it has read her case notes."
"Can they actually remove him?" My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"Not easily, and not quickly.
An emergency placement review requires evidence of immediate risk to the child.
They don't have that.
But it creates noise.
It creates a process.
And if Marsh can get someone on that review board to slow-walk the investigation while the counter-complaint is pending —"
"She buries everything again."
"She's done it before," Renata said.
I sat down on the bottom stair.
Luke was upstairs.
I could hear him moving around his room.
"What do we do?"
"We move faster than she does.
I'm filing for an emergency injunction tomorrow morning to block any placement review until the investigation into Marsh is complete.
I'm also contacting the state oversight office directly — bypassing the county board entirely.
And I need you to do something tonight."
"Tell me."
"I need a written statement from Luke.
His account, in his own words, of each of the three incidents.
Dates, names, what he saw, what he reported, what Marsh said to him afterward.
Everything." A pause.
"He's seventeen.
He can provide a statement voluntarily.
But Ellen — he has to want to.
Don't push him."
I went upstairs.
Luke was at his desk, textbook open, but he wasn't reading it.
He turned when I knocked on the doorframe.
"I need to tell you something," I said.
"And then I need to ask you something."
I told him about the counter-complaint.
I watched his face as I spoke — the careful stillness, the way his jaw tightened once and then released.
When I finished, he turned back to his desk.
He picked up a pen.
"What do you need me to write?" he asked.
"Luke.
You don't have to —"
"I know I don't have to." He looked back at me.
"I want to.
I've wanted to do something for six years.
Every time I tried, someone took the pen away." He held it up.
"Not this time."
I sat on the edge of his bed while he wrote.
He didn't ask me how to start.
He didn't stop to think about phrasing or whether he was saying it right.
He just wrote, steadily, for forty minutes, filling three pages in his careful, even handwriting.
When he finished, he read it back once, made two small corrections, and handed it to me.
I read it standing there in his room.
By the time I reached the third page, I had to stop once and look at the ceiling before I could continue.
"This is enough," I said.
"This is more than enough."
"Is it going to work?"
I looked at him directly.
"I don't know.
But I promise you — whatever happens next, I am not going anywhere.
And neither are you."
He nodded.
He turned back to his textbook.
I was almost at the door when he spoke again.
"Mom."
I stopped.
"The little girl from the first family.
The Hendersons.
Her name was Rosie.
She had a gap in her front teeth." He paused.
"I think about her sometimes."
I held the three pages against my chest.
"I'll find out what happened to her too," I said.
He didn't answer.
But his shoulders dropped — just slightly — in a way I hadn't seen before.
I went downstairs and called Renata.
I told her we had the statement.
May you like
Then I sat at the kitchen table and added one more name to my list.
Rosie Henderson.
