For the next few days, everything happened in layers. CPS called. A caseworker asked me questions with a tone that tried to be gentle but had to be thorough. Where was Lucy found? Who was responsible? What was the family dynamic like? Did my parents have a history of unsafe caregiving? Had Amanda ever left the children alone before?
Answering felt like walking a tightrope: I didn’t want to embellish, but I refused to minimize. I told the truth. Amanda had always been careless when she was irritated. My mother had always treated children’s discomfort like an inconvenience. My father had always gone along with whatever kept the peace.
The caseworker asked if Lucy had ever expressed fear about being with them. I thought of Lucy’s too-wide eyes in the hospital and felt my throat tighten.