A paramedic examined my ribs while the p/o/lice photographed the room and collected evidence. The g/u/n was sealed inside a clear bag. The forged power of attorney went into another.
Rachel sat in the back of a patrol car, staring through the window.
Marcus was placed in a separate vehicle.
Even then, he continued shouting.
“You can’t take me! That document gives me authority!”
An officer held up the evidence bag containing the forged papers.
“This document may give you something,” he said calmly. “Authority isn’t it.”
Marcus looked toward me.
“Mom! Tell them this is a family disagreement!”
I said nothing.
For years, I had answered every crisis he created.
I had spoken to professors, landlords, creditors, business partners, angry girlfriends, and once even a hotel manager after Marcus destroyed a room during a drunken argument.
Every time, I protected him.
Every time, I told myself it was the last time.
