Chapter 6 - The Mother's Secret
Two days later, Leo was well enough to walk around the ward. The color was returning to his unbruised cheek, and the hollow emptiness in his stomach was slowly being filled by the hospital kitchen's endless supply of pudding and mashed potatoes.
However, before the foster placement could be officially approved, procedure required a supervised visit between Leo and his mother, Diane, to explain the transition.
Diane was brought up from the psychiatric hold in a wheelchair, flanked by an orderly and Brenda, the CPS worker. Diane looked skeletal, her skin gray and trembling.
I stood beside Leo's bed. When Leo saw her, he didn't run to her. He actually shrank back against his pillows, his small hand gripping the edge of my white coat.
"Leo," Diane sobbed, reaching out a trembling hand. "My baby. I'm so sorry. I didn't know he put you in there for that long. I swear I didn't know."
Leo stared at her, his eyes wide and unreadable. "You heard me crying, Mom. I screamed when he dragged me outside. You locked the back door."
The room went dead silent. The brutal honesty of a child cuts deeper than any scalpel. Diane broke down, burying her face in her hands, her wails echoing off the sterile walls.
"Greg said you needed discipline," she wept. "He said if I interfered, he'd put me in there too. I was so scared, Leo. The drugs... they made it so hard to think."
"You were supposed to protect him," I said, my voice cold and steady, unable to keep my professional detachment intact. "You are his mother. There is no excuse. None."
Brenda stepped forward, gently but firmly turning Diane's wheelchair around. "I think that's enough for today, Diane. Leo needs his rest."
After they left, Leo sat perfectly still. I sat on the edge of his bed, letting the silence breathe.
"She's not bad," Leo said quietly, looking at his hands. "She's just broken."
"It's not your job to fix her, Leo," I told him softly. "And it was her job to protect you. You have a right to be angry. You have a right to be sad. But you also have a right to be safe."
I told him about the foster care arrangement. I explained that I had a house near the beach, with a big yard and a golden retriever named Barnaby who desperately needed a boy to throw tennis balls for him.
Leo looked up, a tiny spark of something—hope, perhaps—igniting in his dark eyes.
"Would I have my own room?" he asked.
"Your own room, a door that doesn't have a lock on the outside, and all the food you can eat," I promised.
May you like
He didn't say anything for a long time. Then, very slowly, he leaned sideways and rested his head against my arm. It was the first time he had initiated physical contact since he arrived.
"Okay," he whispered.
