“You didn’t love Emery enough.”
The words left my mouth before I could stop them.
Heather turned red. Then she broke down crying.
But none of us trusted those tears.
The following weeks were filled with court dates, interviews, and more medical evaluations. Emery stayed in the pediatric care ward, gaining weight slowly, feeding well, and showing no signs of lasting injury.
CPS launched a full investigation into Heather’s home life. Photos were pulled from her apartment—unwashed bottles, a cracked crib, empty formula cans, stained baby clothes on the floor.
Heather tried to paint herself as overwhelmed. Postpartum. Isolated. She blamed Travis for everything.
But when pressed, she admitted she suspected he was rough with Emery.
And didn’t stop him.
That was enough.
She lost custody—temporarily, the court said. But with the weight of her decisions, the likelihood of permanent loss loomed.
We were granted emergency kinship custody. Emery came home with us two weeks later. Lila was ecstatic—carefully gentle, helping with bottles, patting her back during burps like a tiny pro.