“Because I was afraid of losing you.”
“But you did lose me.”
The words hit like a slap. David stared at his son.
“What?”
Michael turned to him. His eyes were dry but full of pain.
“You lost me, Dad. I’m here. But I’m not here.”
Seven years old. A deaf child. And he had said what no adult could. David sank to his knees on the damp ground. He hugged his son.
“I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”
Michael didn’t hug him back. He just stood there. Small, cold, distant. Lost. David let him go and looked into his eyes.
“What do I do? Tell me what to do to get you back.”
Michael signed slowly, clearly:
“Bring Vera back.”
“I can’t. If I do, your grandmother will take you away. Through the courts. For good.”
“Then let her.”
David froze.
“You… you want to leave?”
“No. But if I have to choose between you without Vera and Grandma without Vera… it doesn’t matter. It’s the same everywhere. It’s a cage.”
The boy turned and walked toward the building. David remained on his knees under the maple tree, watching his son go. And for the first time in three years, he cried. That night, David didn’t sleep. He sat in his office with a glass of whiskey, staring at the folder of expert opinions Eleanor had brought.
He read them again. Carefully. And he noticed something he had missed the first time. All the reports were based on a single video. The one of Michael playing in the mud. Not one of these specialists had seen the child in person. Hadn’t spoken to him. Didn’t know his history. They had judged him based on a one-minute video.
David opened his laptop. He found the contact information for these specialists. He started calling. The first was a child psychologist, Dr. Marina Wells. She answered on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Good evening. This is David Solomon. Michael’s father. You provided a report on my son.”
A pause.
“Yes, I recall. What is this about?”
“Did you ever meet my son in person?”
“No, I was shown a video recording. It was sufficient for a preliminary assessment.”
“Preliminary? Your report states it’s your ‘definitive opinion.’”
Another, longer pause.
“I… I did what I was asked to do.”
“Eleanor Vance is a respected woman, a former colleague. Did she ask you to write a negative report?”
“She asked me to assess the situation from a professional standpoint. I saw a child in unsanitary conditions and…”
“You saw a child who was smiling for the first time in three years,” David felt a wave of anger rise. “You saw a happy child. But you wrote that he was neglected. Why?”
Silence.
“I don’t have to answer your questions.”
“You will if you plan to testify in court. And I will do everything to make sure that court date happens. And that your professional reputation is scrutinized.”
He hung up. He called the second specialist. The third.
The result was the same. No one had seen Michael in person. They had all written their reports as a favor to Eleanor Vance. They all admitted it was a professional courtesy. By three in the morning, David had the full picture. His mother-in-law was bluffing. She had no real grounds for a custody battle.
Only fear and manipulation. But it had been enough to make him fire Vera. David closed his laptop. He looked at his phone. Vera’s number was in his contacts. He hesitated. Then he remembered Michael’s face: “You lost me, Dad.” He hit call. The phone rang and rang.
He was about to hang up when, on the seventh ring, a quiet voice answered:
“Hello?”
“Vera. It’s David Solomon.”
A pause. He could hear her breathing.
“Yes?”
“I… ” He didn’t know where to start. “I need your help.”
“Why? You said I was a danger to your son.”
“I said a lot of stupid things. I’m sorry.”
Silence.
“Michael is fading. Slowly, but surely. The new nanny is professional, qualified, and she’s killing him with every lesson.”
He heard Vera let out a small sob.
“I knew it,” she whispered. “God, I knew this would happen.”
“Please, come back. I’ll fight Eleanor. In court, if I have to. But I need your help. Michael needs your help.”
“What if you lose? What if the court decides you can’t handle it?”
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