Author Note:
Here's the next instalment, after only three rounds of editing (which is a milestone for me, believe it or not). Many of you have been waiting for this so I hope it's everything you envisioned and more.
This will probably be the darkest chapter I write but it was much needed to set the stage for the rest of the story. All examples have been drawn from real-life, unfortunately. Children who are under the care of the province I live in make up one of the most vulnerable populations in our country; cases of serial mistreatment are extremely common. As much as IUW is fictional, I feel obligated to shed light on this issue. Maybe if more of us made noise, governments would be forced to respond.
Please read with care; descriptions of physical/emotional abuse of children.
Brokerage and Collateral: the collection of information considered helpful to a person's care
Chapter 28: Brokerage and Collateral
As Stef and Lena had expected, the process of going through the bankers' boxes was emotional. Unlike adoption portfolio reports and histories, which recounted facts, now there was context that was enriched with stories. Items, like the cassettes, illustrated the children's past in ways that brought them to life. It was an invaluable opportunity—one they were incredibly grateful for.
The women had been working their way through the contents together in the evenings, wanting to return as many of Jude and Callie's belongings sooner than later. Especially with the adoption coming up, an anchor that would maintain the siblings' connection with their biological parents was crucial.
They'd also found that having a common goal was helping to mend the fence between them. After Monday's argument, both had been more than happy to let sleeping dogs lie. They started spending more time in each other's vicinity, rather than avoiding each other, as the snarky comments diminished. During one of Stef's late nights, Lena had surprised her with a honey maple ham sandwich, complete with a garlic dill and a cup of tea.
Still, time together was rare. The cop had been working overtime and night shifts when she had the energy to pick them up, in an attempt to catch up on the days she'd been home for Callie's suspension. Lena was organizing parent-teacher conferences for the year and was swamped. Once they finished helping the kids with homework and evening routines, they were exhausted, leaving Stef to wonder when they hell they'd gotten so old. Two nights in, and they'd barely made a dent in those boxes.
Finally, Stef had caved and spoken to the Captain about using her accrued sick days towards time off. Roberts, who had a family-first policy, not only accommodated her request but offered her a paid special leave up to six weeks to be divided up whichever way she and Lena saw fit. This would give them time as a family to deal with everything surrounding the addition of their two newest children.
Stef lugged all three boxes to the precinct on Wednesday to continue sorting through their contents while off duty as per Roberts' encouragement. Going to work hadn't been the original plan, but after a cursory inspection revealed pests in some of the Ziplocs, she didn't want to risk them getting into their home. This way, she could bleach the surfaces of toys and use the bedbug sauna for the rest.
Without the worry of any of the kids walking in at any moment or having to repackage the items, things were going quicker than Stef had planned. There were three piles going: one for belongings to hand over soon, another to save for later, and another of things she and Lena needed to discuss. Items from the latter groups could be kept in a spare locker, away from prying eyes, until Lena had a chance to look.
She had to hand it to Bill for the obvious care he'd taken with the Jude and Callie's belongings. Each freezer bag was labelled with month and year, indicating when they'd been packed. The majority were from April 2008, right when the siblings had been taken into state custody—likely when Bill entered the Jacob's residence for the final sweep and to clear their name off the lease. Those contained newborn bracelets as well as Colleen's admitting bracelet, sock hats, and the classic pink-and-blue striped swaddle blankets. Cards from birthdays and Christmases throughout the years. Art projects. A Mother's Day craft that was a construction paper heart with little squares of paper glued inside, titled Love you to pieces, Mama. First outfits. Clay hand- and foot-prints. The first of Callie's baby teeth to fall out.
The amount of photos were endless. The kids sitting in the bath together with matching bubble beards. A gap-toothed Callie armed with a spoon, ready to dig into whatever sat on the plate in front of her. Another of her with the same smile, wearing a baseball cap that was too large for her. Both kids running through a sprinkler in their underwear. Jude in a baby walker that looked like a death trap, grinning despite a chin that was ruby red from drool rash. Donald helping Callie fly a kite as Jude trailed behind, his face contorted into an anguished cry.
There were some of Colleen and Donald, too. Colleen with three of her girlfriends, all leaning in and blowing kisses at the camera. Donald at the back of a flatbed with his buddies, beer and cigarettes in hand.
Belongings that'd been packed after April 2008, taken from the children while in foster care, were a clear indicator of the trajectory their lives had taken. Both thinned out in school photos, looking dirtier, more sallow, and with smiles that rarely reached their eyes. Report cards suggested Jude had been mute and spent a week crying at the beginning of Kindergarten, due to lack of early socialization. There were countless absences, some coded as sick days but others without reason. They changed schools often and immunization records showed boosters received years later than recommended. Many bags were pest-riddled.
An 8.5"x11" envelope held activity sheets for children facing loss, which the cop figured came from the early trauma work that'd been arranged by the Case Manager. Stef decided to set those aside for Lena to decide what to do with them. Her breath caught in her throat as she read the poorly-scribbled sentences. Written on one activity, in raw nine-year-old grief, was: There was an accident. Mama got wings to fly to heaven. And Daddy had to go to jail."
Relief flooded the cop when she opened the third box. Inside were books, most of them put away in 2011. The month wasn't specified but Stef was sure that they'd been taken when Callie had been taken into custody. Jude hadn't stayed in that placement and going into another as a single, he would've been able to take even less. Smoothing the plastic to read the spines, she stopped at the thickest one. An Illustrated Treasury of Hans Christian Andersen's Fairy Tales.
After having discovered moth-eaten stuffed animals, brown flecks that looked suspiciously like bedbug residue, and one insect that was very much alive and well—finding Callie's book was akin to winning the jackpot.
Not without some guilt, Stef wondered if returning the book to Callie might help repair their relationship. She'd been hopeful after the youth had talked about Colleen, but since then she had become distant—and considering how things had gone after the nightmare, Stef wasn't so sure.
She refrained from tearing open the seal to the bag, instead holding it up to the overhead lighting for inspection. Turning the item, Stef shuddered at noticing a cluster of dried mouse droppings onto the back cover of the book. Dozens of clusters of minuscule, tan-coloured eggs in webbing were on the binding, book edge, and between the double-seal of the Ziploc. Dead larvae and grey casings littered the bottom.
"Ugh!" she exclaimed, letting it drop onto the table as she felt herself begin to itch all over. She put on a new pair of gloves before snapping a photo with her phone, fearing it'd be completely infested. A part of her just wanted to order a new copy off Amazon for Callie; however, she and Lena had agreed not to throw anything out.
She definitely felt conflicted, though, knowing that the eggs could stay dormant for a long time. She and Lena had had personal experience with trying to eradicate them when they first moved in together. Nearly all of Lena's clothes had been destroyed from either the larva eating them or from repeatedly doing laundry. Two exterminations, one destroyed wood-framed bed, and multiple trips to the bank for coins for the laundromat later, they were gone; however, it had been a financial nightmare. Going through that again in a house with five kids seemed impossible.
Groaning, Stef went to get scissors, a mask, CaviWipes, and the handheld vac from the supply closet. After all that Callie and Jude had lost, she couldn't throw anything that belonged to them away in good conscience. Cutting the bag open over the garbage, the cop let the plastic slip off the book before proceeding to vacuum and disinfect every surface, nook, and cranny. Then, Stef held it by the spine and gave it a quick shake for good measure. A flattened, folded paper airplane used as a bookmark fluttered into the can. Carrying the anthology back to the table, she changed her gloves again and began to flip through the pages.
Seeing the illustrations, the cop understood why it was so special to Callie. Colleen had taped herself reading every single story and the fantastical watercolour pictures brought it all to life. While Callie had insisted she was too old for these stories, Stef hoped she'd listen to them anyway. She had seen how difficult it'd been for her daughter to hear her Mom's voice; however, it held so much potential for letting grief run its course, which she hoped would bring Callie the closure she deserved but had been cheated out of.
Tightly wedged between another section of pages was a second airplane. Stef chuckled at the haphazard origami and wondered which sibling had attempted it. Freeing its wings from the body, she was about the launch it at the garbage when something about it made her hesitate at the very last moment.
Unfolding the paper, she discovered a child's drawing of people eating at a table. Each rudimentary figure was characterized by loopy limbs and digits disproportionate to their body size, and smiles were scrawled on. One stick figure dropped what she assumed was bits of food onto the floor below. Under the table were several other smaller figures, on fours. Stef smiled. Family pets, scrounging below.
Another airplane, found a few pages down, sent a chill through the cop. Two stick people drawn in the same, loopy style, stood on a lawn with grass and flowers in a garden sequestered off to the side. One person held a hose; its face with a deep, black frown and a zigzagged mouth. The smaller figure stood directly under the stream of water as it puddled around its feet. Blue tears went down its face.
Her heart plummeted. Children often drew odd depictions to make sense of their world but they rarely imagined scenes of abuse unless the idea had been seeded for them.
She and Lena had suspected physical and emotional abuse from the beginning. The signs had been undeniable. The ambivalent, insecure attachment; jumpiness and flinching if they got too close; disorganized eating and self-neglect; and an independence level that surpassed what was appropriate for their age. All were indicative of previous maltreatment. There were also hints in the children's files but wording typically erred on the side of caution, rarely divulging more than what they needed to know as state caregivers. Some placements had been cut short and replaced by emergency stays. The women hadn't pushed to find out specifics, other than the situation the siblings were in when Callie had been arrested. However, the system in place for children in care was overworked enough that they knew abuse often went undiscovered.
Closing her eyes, the cop drew in a deep breath before letting her gaze fall on the first drawing. Upon a second glance, it was clear that the pets were actually children. Stef could now make out the dog's rectangular "ears" as simply brown hair on a stick figure. The smaller figure had yellow-coloured hair, which made complete sense. Often, brown-haired children were blond as infants and toddlers.
"No. NO!" Stef cried out. Adrenaline fully kicking in, she grabbed the heavy book and began to shake it vigorously. The book offered its truth, without resistance, in the form of countless airplanes and fortune tellers that fell onto the table. Not yet convinced that all the origami had been dislodged, the cop slammed it down on its spine and started to flip through methodically until satisfied she'd found every last one.
"Oh…no. No, no, no," she repeated desperately. Her breath caught and tightened in her chest as she unfolded each one before throwing it aside. Her stomach lurched at a particularly explicit one: a person lying face-down on a bed, mouth agape in a downturned oval. At the end of the bed was a figure holding a large stick—a ruler, judging by the marks on the wood—in a balled up fist. SORY was repeatedly written all over the page, as if making a mockery of the situation.
The drawings were always the same—made from construction paper and drawn in crayon or coloured pencil. Folding seams were more precise on some than others. Clothing, people, and settings morphed, but all were equally disturbing. Children hiding under a bed as a figure loomed by the door. Various depictions of being hit. The most eerie was a stick figure holding out its hands with fingers splayed, each finger big and red.
Fumbling in her pocket for her phone, Stef's fingers shook as she speed-dialled her colleagues in the adjacent department. She ended the call after the second ring as she walked over to the garbage, remembering the first airplane that'd fallen in. The one she'd thought had been a bookmark. Hands shaking, Stef unfurled it and smoothed it out against the sink counter.
On the faded yellow backdrop was a sink and funny-looking toilet off to one side. A stool of some sort. Toothbrushes on the counter. On the opposite side was a tub with the shower on, bright blue droplets raining down into the basin. A stick figure, a woman with reddish-coloured curly hair was in the middle of the page. Her face was angry, depicted with the familiar, exaggerated black frown and zigzagged mouth she'd seen in other drawings. In her balled up fist was a wavy-looking length of rope or strap, with a rectangle on the end. Scrawled across the top was GENNEEN.
Her heart pounding, the cop swallowed nervously as she scanned the innocently drawn picture. She closed her eyes twice, wishing in desperation that that was all it was. But it was a naive denial, for in her heart, Stef already knew—she wasn't going to like whatever she found. In her heart, she already knew what this was about. No amount of pleading with herself would make it untrue.
Then, she saw it.
Sitting small beside the bathtub was a stick person, likely a girl judging by flowers on the pants and the long brown hair. Both eyes were drawn as X's and her oval mouth was downturned, open and contorted as if mid-scream. Large tears drawn onto the face pooled onto the floor.
Callie.
"Hi, Bill, this is Stef Foster calling. It's about…quarter-to-ten right now. I'm hoping we can connect sooner than later so I can update you on something you need to know about." The matter was urgent but she didn't want to stress him out by leaving too much info, either. "My cell's the best way to get a hold of me. We'll chat soon."
Ending the call, Stef peered through the window at her two colleagues. She'd been more than relieved to step aside to let them do their job. With a possible record of child abuse in her possession, things had moved quickly once she'd called over to the Child Abuse Unit. Now each drawing was being carefully flattened and photographed before being placed into their own plastic sleeve and going into a new filing box. As per standard protocol, a case number was assigned. Unfortunately, while no additional drawings had been found, the original box was confiscated for investigation as there were other books that hadn't been checked.
The best any of them were hoping for was to try to put them in order, based on developmental age of the child upon completion of the drawing, the extent to which the paper was faded, and characteristics in the picture itself. The order could then potentially be matched with the timeline of placements the children had been in, using objective information about those families, such as pets or household size. Those caregivers could then be investigated.
Still, despite all this work, it'd be nearly impossible to recommend charges to be laid—even if somehow the children were willing to be interviewed. Drawings were not photographs, and weren't considered as reliable.
The only useful thing the discovery had told Stef was that the pictures had been drawn and hidden over several moves, which broke her heart.
Thirty minutes after having left that voicemail message, and the cop was feeling increasingly antsy each time she checked her phone. Finally unable to wait any longer for Bill to call back, she tried his emergency line.
"Stef," he immediately answered, sounding out of breath. "Everything alright?"
"Bill, sorry—I left a voicemail not too long ago but wanted to give you another try. Do you have some time?" the cop said apologetically.
"I'm in between visits so have a good window now. Did something happen at school?" he asked, genuinely concerned. The women rarely called him at his personal number—in fact, he often didn't hear from them unless something serious happened.
"Oh, no, nothing happened at school. Callie went back Monday and honestly, I think she likes being in her routine again. There haven't been any concerns since then," Stef replied. All of her daughter's recent issues at school and with breaking her probation now paled in comparison to what she'd just learned.
Stef paused, trying to figure out the best way to broach the news. "It does have something to do with Callie and Jude, though, and it's a bit time sensitive. An investigator with our department will be trying to connect with you before the end of this week," she forewarned, not wanting him to be caught off guard when her colleague assigned to the file called.
"I found some drawings when going through the boxes…" She was finding it incredibly difficult to stay removed from the situation despite trying to be as professional as possible. It'd be so much easier to do this in person but she already felt too close to the case and knew meeting face-to-face wouldn't help keep boundaries. She just wanted to be Mom.
"Okay…" Bill said slowly, confused as to why the police wanted to talk to him about the kids. "there needs to be a Release of Information signed but otherwise it should be fine—"
Closing her eyes, Stef held her breath before forcing herself to speak. Her mouth felt like cotton and she could barely get the words out. "It's about a possible record of abuse."
"Do you have a pen and paper? I have the file number in case you need to get a hold of the department before someone gives you a call." Stef played with the business card as Bill fumbled on the other end of the line. She had just finished explaining what she'd found out and next steps in terms of what would be needed from him to proceed with the investigation.
"SDDCA-19738," she read out once he was ready.
"Got it. Thanks for the heads up. It should be easy to pull the records of all the placements, including emergency stays, and the corresponding dates. I'll fax them by tomorrow." Bill was anxious to help in any way possible; nearly all of those placements were still active. If the Jacob kids had been mistreated in those homes, they likely wouldn't have been the only ones—and any kids there currently would be at risk, too.
"What happened in the placement with Jeanine?" Stef blurted out, still shaking from the adrenaline. She hadn't planned on asking before Bill saw the exhibit, but that had been the only drawing that had the name of the perpetrator and she couldn't let it go.
She, of course, understood the specific incident based on Jude's drawing. As well, she had some context of the woman based on what little Callie had shared about her. The truth was that she needed Bill to tell her so that she could begin to process it.
"Callie mentioned her to Dr. Wiseman," the cop explained, unwilling to go further than that. Callie and Jude deserved the utmost respect and dignity—rights that they hadn't had consistently for far too long—and she wanted to preserve that. Sensing Bill's hesitation, she wondered how much more her heart could take for she knew this would be hard to hear.
"Hold on, I'm moving into an interview room," he informed her, unwilling to have this discussion in the office he shared with three other colleagues, which guaranteed his attention would be taxed.
"Callie talked about her? What was the context?" Bill asked once the door closed behind him, wanting to know what Stef knew. He needed to be careful to preserve as much of Callie's confidentiality as possible; however, if the cop brought information forward, he was willing to share specifics. There were definitely release of information guidelines but given that his clients were all minors, it was up to his discretion.
"There was some…encouragement," Stef clarified. "She said that she and Jude would have to eat separately from the other children, who I'm guessing were biological. She described being fairly restricted with food and getting into trouble for telling, and left it at that."
"That's correct," Bill admitted sadly. He was surprised that Callie had mentioned the woman at all. The youth had insisted she was only giving her statement once and, to the best of his knowledge, she'd kept her word.
"I—I found an incredibly disturbing drawing that Jude did—a picture of Callie in the bathroom with Jeanine," Stef continued, knowing that Bill was waiting for her to reveal what she knew so he could add to it.
"It was disturbing," he confirmed. "All the more so because everything in that home had checked out; the caregivers had already been fostering for a couple years. It was the kids' first placement and I had them see someone at the children's mental health center to help them grieve. Two or three months in, the Psychologist called with concerns that Jude and Callie were being segregated from the rest of the family during meals and that food was possibly being withheld."
The cop felt her annoyance rise at this woman. Why decide to foster if there was no intention of including children in all aspects of the family's routine? That was the entire point of fostering—to nurture relationships, inclusion, and attachment, regardless of length of stay. There was no such thing as going offline, ever, as a parent.
"I went to the house unannounced that evening to do a home check and to interview the caregivers as well as the children. Again, everything checked out—cupboards were full, produce and dairy in the fridge. Callie and Jude denied eating separately and not getting enough. Their weights were normal. Jeanine and her husband gave appropriate answers." He paused. "I had my doubts, though. There were doubles of some items—the same thing in a brand name and generic."
"That wouldn't have been enough of a rationale to move them," Stef stated quietly. It was the worst possible predicament to be in: having grounds for immediate investigation, but needing to leave children who were likely at risk because the threat wasn't immediate enough, or because the rationale wasn't strong enough to get an alternative placement. The risk would then be elevated, as potentially abusive caregivers were now tipped off that the kids in their care had likely been responsible for telling someone.
"I wasn't left with much choice other than to recommend closer monitoring, Stef. The department backed me up, even though we agreed, something wasn't adding up," the Case Worker explained.
He paused, clearing his throat before continuing. "The elementary school called three days later, two days before I was due to go back for a follow up. Callie's teacher had been helping her get changed for gym when the bruising and welts were noticed."
"E—excuse me?" Stef choked out, not wanting to believe what she was hearing. She couldn't believe that that woman had beat Callie over a home visit she was responsible for bringing upon herself. "That's ludicrous, Bill, absolutely ludicrous. Thank god her teacher found out," she said, somehow knowing that Callie would've not said anything.
"I often think about that—how lucky Callie was in a way that she trusted her teacher enough to let her take a look. Otherwise we might not have found out until something worse happened." Bill chuckled bitterly. It was awful to even suggest luck in such a situation.
"I also often think about what I could've done differently during that home visit. How I could've been less explicit about my intentions, I guess, so that Callie and Jude could've been protected," he admitted. It'd been years since he'd spoke about this, and it was just as hard now as it'd been then.
Stef shook her head. She understood why Bill would feel responsible as their Case Worker, but it'd been pure retaliation and she believed no one could've anticipated that outcome. "Usually caregivers are savvy enough to know that when there's an impromptu visit, that something's been flagged."
"What happened after?" she asked, not entirely sure she could stomach the truth.
"The ER at Rady's Children's Hospital received Callie right away. By the time I arrived, she had already been triaged and police had been called."
"Of course, the stars refused to align that day. I tried to have a female colleague join me, thinking she might have better rapport with Callie, but she ended up with an emergency of her own. The constable wanted a statement from Callie right away. Then it turned out there was no female doctor available that shift. Though I'm not sure it would've helped. You know the team at Rady's—they're amazing—but Callie wouldn't have any of it. They tried giving her Ativan to calm her down and she refused. In the end, they sedated her after deciding it'd be less traumatizing so they could collect the evidence and do blood work to check for infection."
"She must've been so scared," the cop whispered. Her vision blurred as she imagined her sweet, lively, and surly girl as a frightened eight-year-old—uncertain of what was happening, alone amongst strangers, and afraid to speak. That was hard. "Evidence?" she croaked out.
"Extensive deep tissue bruising all over the back of her thighs, buttocks, and knees. It took a long time to get her cleaned up. Her underwear was dried on in some areas, from fluid draining from where the skin had broken." Bill cleared his throat, knowing he was breaking the woman's heart; however, Callie's experience deserved honesty. That was needed to foster understanding and hopefully, attachment.
"How were her labs? They were worried about infection?"
"There was a concern that Callie might not have been able to remove her underwear without reopening some areas, so they thought she could've been eliminating and showering without getting fully undressed," he explained as Stef sucked in a sharp breath. "Results were clear, thankfully. The doctor was going to discharge her but decided to hold her until we could arrange another placement. Jude stayed with me during that time."
"Callie must've been thrilled about that," Stef quipped. She fully understood that the hospital would've been the safest place for her.
Bill let out a halfhearted chuckle. "Ah—no. Actually Callie tried to fire me. When the constable was finally allowed to interview her, Callie politely informed him she would like to speak first about the man representing her and her brother," he recounted.
Stef laughed bitterly as she let the tears fall. This was Callie; she still had her fighting streak.
"She did eventually come around. A nurse asked Callie if she thought we were just keeping her in hospital to be mean, and apparently she said no, that she thought it was because we cared about her. She also admitted, when I apologized to her for what had happened, that she understood why I had to do the visit…but she was much more guarded after that."
"What happened to her? The woman, I mean," Stef clarified, finding herself unable to say her name.
"She pled guilty to a charge of aggravated battery of a minor with a weapon, but maintained it was discipline that accidentally got out of hand because Callie resisted. She served thirty days and two years probation. With support from the court psychologist, Jude gave his statement through storytelling and drawings, and of course, the extent of Callie's injuries cast doubt on Jeanine's claim that they were accidental."
"Thirty days?" Stef murmured, incredulous. That was a slap on the wrist.
She bit her lip, wondering if she was overstepping with her questions. "What about the other placements?" she finally asked.
"I had my concerns, as I do with most placements at one time or another," Bill admitted. "Their short-stay after Jeanine's was with one of the Case Workers on our team and was probably their best one. I'd describe the remaining placements as less than ideal… Caregivers just didn't have the patience or initiative I would've expected from people who willingly foster. Callie and Jude would miss doctor's appointments, they started having issues at school, and the record keeping was spotty. I was always asking for clarification or reminding."
"One home appeared overly focused on maintaining their home as a business exchange—they followed the rules but weren't willing to go beyond that. I'm talking wakeup and lights out times, portion sizes, snacking and meals restricted to certain times of the day—a fridge lock enforced this. They weren't wrong—guidelines are three healthy meals and two snacks a day, but they were clearly in it for the money. Most kids who went through that home found it cold and regimented, but unfortunately there's not much that can be done because those reasons don't constitute grounds for removal. I believe they asked for renumeration because one of the kids accidentally damaged something, maybe it was a dent in the wall. I can't recall exactly. We weren't able to do that and a few months later they terminated."
The cop could only shake her head in disbelief as she felt a lump crawl up her throat. Simply providing shelter to children who needed warmth, safety, and love was not the same as giving them a home.
Housing was only the bare minimum needed for survival—it kept children alive. Homes, on the other hand, provided security so that they could eventually heal and start looking into the future. To give them space to think about what they wanted to do and the person they wanted to grow up to be. Things that got pushed to the back burner when food, shelter, and safety were uncertain.
It surprised and dismayed her that any adult could ever confuse the two.
Bill cleared his throat. It'd been awhile since he had reviewed any of these events but he wasn't one to forget details. "I removed them from another home for failure to thrive. The caregivers had already been recommended for additional training on appropriate behavioural management," he explained. "Jude was still sucking his thumb in kindergarten and they rubbed Vicks onto his hands to stop him. He had a contact reaction when it ended up in his eyes. There were other flags, too. I suspected they kept Callie home from school as punishment. She began running away, homework wasn't done, and her teacher complained she would fall asleep in class. After Callie stole from the cafeteria and begged her school counsellor to not call her foster parents, that was it."
As the children's Case Worker relayed these experiences, Stef felt her blood begin to boil. She couldn't believe what she was hearing; that anyone could conclude that these actions would be okay in any context. Suddenly, the picture of the stick figure with its enlarged, red fingers held apart made sense. As did Jude's aversion to bathing. If, as Jeanine had claimed, the beating had been unintentional—that it had actually meant to be a consequence that got out of control—Stef knew there was a good chance it probably wasn't the first time it'd happened and that Jude would've likely encountered the same treatment in the bathroom.
Most importantly, Stef understood why Callie had run away and why she had become reticent to shower again when it was something that'd already been resolved months ago. Evoking all of these memories had been entirely her fault, and her heart broke as she realized what she had done. It hadn't been her intention, but that was no excuse for pressuring her daughter to share what she had held so protectively because of the trauma associated with old fears.
Unable to keep her tears at bay any longer, the cop forced herself to breathe quietly through her mouth. There was absolutely no denying that Jude and Callie had encountered countless episodes of mistreatment across different homes. She had suspected, of course, by the way her daughter had refused to answer Dr. Wiseman's questions. However, a part of her had held onto hope that it wasn't true—that Callie was being uncooperative because she hadn't wanted to be there.
Throughout all of this, Stef wondered if another layer to her heartache was due to her self-doubt as a parent. True, she and Lena ran a tight ship together, but often she was the one steering it. She was the strict one who was quick to chastise and question, a consequence almost always ready at the tip of her tongue. And though they tried not to be obvious, it was no secret that Lena often deferred to her whenever behaviour had been particularly egregious and required tough love. Harsher sentencing, as Jesus liked to call it.
It wasn't easy and she and Lena had had their arguments about it over the years but in general, this arrangement was what worked for them as a family. The children would cry and complain about her discipline but at the end of the day they demonstrated understanding and it was okay; they would promise to do better and usually smartened up. Until they didn't, of course. And despite all their hassling, the cop also knew that the consistency offered security and happiness. They weren't fumbling in the dark, trying to figure out where the line was because those boundaries remained static.
Yes, she could be harsh—any of her kids could speak to that—but she simply saw herself as a parent doing her job and accepted it as a fact of life.
Like any parent, her confidence wavered. But she had never felt so unsure until recently.
Now, the thought of being yet another source of fear in Callie's life consumed her. Considering how careful her daughter had been around her, tiptoeing as if afraid to leave footsteps, she worried that this was a possibility.
She wondered if Lena had been right. That Callie now saw her as being another threat to watch out for.
Another Jeanine.