“I don’t want to be a tattletale,” he admits.
“Has this happened before?”
He answers with a nod.
“Is that why you took all the snacks this morning?”
Another nod.
I let my shoulders drop, not realizing that I had them so tensed. “I’ll talk to your teacher about it, but I need you to do the same, okay?”
“I guess,” he agrees.
“Noah, what those kids are doing is not okay. It’s bullying. If we don’t stop them, it’ll just continue, and they’ll do it to other kids too. Talking with your teacher can only help.”
He twists his lips from side to side, thinking through what I’ve said. “Okay. I’ll try.”
“That’s my little king.” This time, he gives me a smile at the use of his nickname. “Do you want to call Margaret and August when we get home? I know you miss them.”
Noah brightens at the idea. “Yes, please.” We get out of the car together and walk hand in hand toward the store. “What are we getting?”
“Well, someone stole all the goodies from our pantry, so we need to replace them,” I tease.
Noah tries hiding his smile by scrunching his face. But when I tickle his stomach, he lets his laugh ring free. It’s a sound I’ll never tire of. It means he’s happy. It means he’s safe. And I will do whatever is necessary to keep him laughing.
We snag a shopping cart as I inform him, “I was thinking we could try making spaghetti tonight.”
Noah gives me a skeptical look. “What if it turns out like the hamburgers?”
I groan.
Being a full-time mom means I’m learning how to cook for the first time in my life. Growing up, I didn’t have to cook for myself, and I spent the last few years relying on protein bars. So, I’ve been trying to learn from Pinterest and the cooking channel. Unfortunately, I need a lot of help.
“We agreed never to speak about what happened with the hamburgers,” I remind him playfully.
We meander up and down the aisles as I check the recipe on my phone over and over, making sure we get all the right ingredients. As I reach for a second can of tomato sauce, a man in a three-piece pretentious suit catches my eye. The glimpse is enough for me to lose my grip and fumble with the can.
The man shows signs of aging since the last time I saw him seven years ago. He has more white in his hair, but he still walkswith an air of self-importance that makes my pulse elevate. He stands at the end of the aisle with another man, who’s also wearing a suit. They wear fake smiles as they discuss what I’m sure is a menial subject. I’m too far away to know for sure. But I don’t miss the little bag with crimson pills in his hand as he tries to hide it in a handshake. As quickly as the exchange began, it ended. The customer walks out of the store without purchasing any groceries.
Placing the can in the cart, I keep my eyes fixed on the monster who used to torment me for fun. I remember the first time I sat in his office…
“Why don’t we talk about why you’re here, Raven?” He crosses his legs and rests his black leather notepad in his lap.
I grind my teeth, locking my jaw to keep the rage-filled words from coming out. When I was forced here, I learned quickly that if I keep my mouth shut, then the orderlies leave me alone…for the most part. Flexing my fingers, I attempt one more time to get free of the restraints keeping me in the cold metal chair.
He removes his glasses and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I won’t know how to help you if you won’t talk to me.”
Still refusing to speak, I roll my lips inward.
He sighs and motions to the large man wearing blue scrubs in the corner. The man steps forward, pulling my hair so I’m forced to look up at the ceiling.
“You leave me no choice, my beautiful Blackbird,” the psychiatrist says as if this whole situation is my fault. He pulls a syringe from the tray next to him and walks toward me.
“Mom?”
I blink away the red fog clouding my vision and look down at Noah, who is tapping on my leg. “Hmm?”
“Are you okay?” His brows scrunch together.
