Denise assisted me in obtaining Mia’s school records, which revealed chronic tardiness, missed meetings, and counselor notes describing persistent hunger and visible anxiety when discussing home life, and as I reviewed those documents I confronted the horrifying realization that my financial support, offered with the intention of stability, may have inadvertently sustained the very environment causing her distress.
Denise regarded me gravely.
“If you want to protect Mia,” she said, “we coordinate with Child Services and law enforcement. Quietly.”
That night, I opened the folder containing remnants of Caroline’s accident, revisiting messages I had once skimmed without reflection, and among them I found Darren’s request for assistance framed in vague necessity, accompanied by my careless approval that now felt unbearably naïve.
The following morning, I contacted Child Protective Services, and when the intake worker questioned my delayed report, Mia’s soft voice echoed relentlessly in my thoughts.
Just follow him. I had followed. Now I intended to act.