Emily stumbled forward into my arms, and Officer Mendez moved, fast and certain, putting herself between Caleb and my daughter.
“Gun down. Now.”
Caleb set the gun on the floor.
Slowly.
Like he was putting down something precious.
Two more officers came through the door, and within seconds Caleb was on the ground, hands cuffed behind his back, reading his rights in a voice he probably couldn’t even hear.
Emily was sobbing into my shoulder, and I held her like I should have held her seven months ago when she first said his name.
Officer Mendez knelt beside us.
“Emily,” she said gently, “we’re going to need to take a statement. We’re going to need to document your injuries. And we’re going to need you to tell us everything.”
Emily nodded into my shirt.
“Can I stay with my mom?”
“Yes.”
“Can he see me?”
“No.”
“Can he call me?”
“No.”
“Can he—”
“No,” Officer Mendez said firmly. “Not anymore.”
They took Caleb out through my front door in handcuffs.
He didn’t fight.
He didn’t yell.
He looked back once, and his eyes found Emily’s.
“I loved you,” he said.
Emily didn’t answer.
The door closed behind him.
And for the first time in seven months, my daughter took a full breath.
The house was silent except for the distant sound of the patrol car pulling away.
Thomas sat down hard on the couch. Diane was crying. I was still holding Emily like she might disappear if I let go.
“I’m sorry,” Emily whispered.
“Don’t.”
