The bathroom door was gently pushed open by a female officer with a medical kit. “Paramedics are right behind me. You’re safe now.”
As they lifted Noah onto a gurney and helped me up, I looked down at Daniel. He was pressed face-first against the floor, handcuffs clicking tightly around his wrists. He tried to look up at me, his mouth opening to speak, to lie, to manipulate one last time.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a single word. I just held my son’s hand tightly as the EMTs rushed us out into the cool, flashing red-and-blue night air, leaving Daniel entirely in the dark.
