Arthur stepped forward calmly, producing his retired military ID. “Officer,” Arthur said, his voice the epitome of calm cooperation. “I arrived to collect my daughter, who suffered a miscarriage this afternoon. I witnessed this man strike her twice in the face. I intervened to prevent further lethal harm. He fell into the table during the altercation.”
The sergeant looked at my bruised face. He looked at Helen, who refused to make eye contact with the police.
“Sir, turn around and place your hands behind your back,” the sergeant ordered, grabbing Leo’s uninjured arm.
“What?! No! She’s lying! Look at my wrist!” Leo screamed, fighting the officer.
“Resisting arrest will just add to the charges, buddy,” the officer growled, violently forcing Leo against the wall and clicking the handcuffs around his broken wrist, ignoring Leo’s shriek of pain.
As the paramedics gently strapped me onto a stretcher to take me back to the hospital for observation, I watched two officers drag Leo out the front door. He was in handcuffs, barefoot, bleeding, and crying loudly as they read him his Miranda rights.