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  We dropped Ryan back off at Vicki’s apartment with heavy hearts that evening. We had considered calling DCFS and having them investigate the situation before we sent Ryan home, but I couldn’t bring myself to dial their number. I couldn’t get forget my first visit from the DCFS lady after Mom rubbed my face into my own urine and how ashamed I felt after her visit and how much Mom beat me after she left; I knew that I couldn’t risk putting Ryan through that same pain. As Ryan got out of the car, I stopped him and held him tight.

  “It’s OK to run,” I whispered to him. “It’s OK to run away somewhere safe and call us if you need to.”

  Vicki came out of her front door. “Get your damn hands off of my kid!” she screeched, but I paid no heed. “Trust me, sweetheart,” I continued, “I’m not going to let you get hurt anymore.” Ryan smiled at me and to my surprise, gave me a peck on the cheek, which immediately infuriated Vicki.

  “What the hell are you kissing her for?” she hollered at him as he walked through the front door. Vicki turned around, flipped Aron and me off, and slammed the front door behind her.

  Aron was furious the entire drive home. “How could you of all people let him go back into that house with her?” he fumed at me.

  “We couldn’t figure out one way to keep him there with us and keep him safe? We could have called the police, child services, someone!” He pounded the steering wheel in frustration. “Damn it, Sarah, he’s in that house with that woman and there is nothing I can do about it!”

  “Aron,” I said, “what good would it have done to call the police or DCFS? Do you really think that Vicki was going to sit there and admit that she hits Ryan? No! She’ll make up some story about Ryan hurting himself and make your son out to be the liar, and then he’ll be too afraid to say anything to anyone ever again!” I shook my head and looked out the window. “No, I’m not putting him through that. We need to call our lawyer tomorrow morning and get in to see him immediately.”

  “So what are you saying, Sarah, are you saying you want Ryan coming and living with us? Are you OK with that?” Aron asked.

  I turned to him with a look of horror on my face. “What do you mean am I OK with it? What kind of person do you think I am to let a child stay with a woman like Mom? It’s only going to get worse, Aron, and if there is something I can do…” My voice trailed off and I was reminded of the many times I had sat and cried on the floor in my room, wanting to know the reason why I was getting hurt so badly and what my purpose was. Maybe this is my purpose, I thought. Maybe I needed to go through what I did so I could help Ryan. I was determined to go after Vicki, and I was not going to let Ryan continue to be a victim any longer and suffer as I had.

  Exactly two weeks later, Aron obtained full legal custody of Ryan. I contacted our attorney the day after Ryan had shared his dark secret with us, and Aron and I met with him later that afternoon and drafted up the first petition seeking custody of Ryan. As Aron read over the petition, he paused.

  “Andy,” he said to our attorney, “we have no proof that she did any of these things to him. I didn’t see flyswatter marks; I didn’t see any of this with my own eyes. What are the chances that a judge is going to believe this?”

  Andy nodded. “I agree, it is a lot of hearsay; that’s why I was going to ask if you would consider Ryan testifying against her.”

  “No!” I said loudly, and Aron looked at me with surprise.

  “What do you mean, no?” he asked. “If we don’t have police reports and we don’t have physical proof, why not have Ryan tell his story himself?”

  I looked at Andy to see if he understood why I wouldn’t want Ryan to testify, but he looked as puzzled as Aron did. You just don’t get it.

  “Because, Aron, Ryan doesn’t live with us yet and Vicki will have from now until the court date—and then who knows how long after that—to intimidate him and coach him on exactly what he is supposed to say and how he is supposed to say it.” I felt as if I were describing Mom again. “Trust me,” I said to Aron urgently, “if you want Ryan to be spared any extra abuse, you won’t make him testify.” I turned to Andy. “There has to be another way,” I pleaded.

  “Well, can you think of one?” Andy asked me.

  I sat back in my chair and thought of Mom. How would I go after Mom now? A light bulb went off in my head and I sat up straight. “Psychological testing,” I said, and I remembered something I had heard during a law class in college years ago. “I might be wrong, but can’t we file something that would require Aron and Vicki to visit a psychiatrist to determine the mental health of both parents before a custodial decision is made?”

  I had often wondered in the past whether if I had spoken up in the anorexic hospital about Mom and the abuse, if the doctors there would have forced my mom to get the help she needed and rescued me from the hell I had been living in. Vicki shared so many similarities with my mother that I had a feeling that a good psychiatrist would quickly be able to find out what kind of person Vicki was and agree that Ryan would be safer with us.

  Andy sat up a bit straighter in his chair and drummed his fingers on his large oak desk. “I believe we can write it into the petition,” he said thoughtfully, and he looked at Aron. “What do you think; would you be willing to be evaluated?”

  “Of course!” Aron exclaimed. “I have nothing to hide.” Aron reached over, grabbed my hand, and squeezed it. “Isn’t she great?” he beamed.

  Andy smiled. “From what you have told me about Vicki, I think Ryan would be very lucky to live with the both of you. But,” he continued, “the psychological testing can’t be a guaranteed thing and we may still have to revisit Ryan testifying.”

  The three of us agreed that we would write up the petition with a request for psychological testing and have it sent directly to Vicki’s apartment. “Do you think that’s a good idea?” Aron asked. “I mean, Ryan is still there and she could take off; so much could go wrong.”

  Andy nodded. “There’s always that chance, but I’m sure she doesn’t have an attorney on retainer and we have to legally inform her that this petition has been filed to give her time to find an attorney. Unfortunately, she has rights too, so she is going to get a copy of this.”

  Andy had the petition filed with the courthouse and sent to Vicki the next day. Thankfully, we had visitation with Ryan that night, so we knew we would be able to get him out of the house for a while and keep him away from Vicki for at least a few hours. I had prepared myself for a huge scene in the parking lot of Vicki’s apartment complex when we arrived and was pleasantly surprised when Ryan came skipping out of her apartment door with a huge smile on his face.

  “Hi guys!” he said as he jumped into the backseat and buckled his seat belt.

  “Hey, buddy?” Aron said as he quickly pulled out of the parking lot. “You seem awfully happy, what’s going on?”

  “Mom says I can come live with you.”

  Aron slammed on the brakes and pulled over to the side of the road. “What?” he said incredulously. “What are you talking about?”

  I unbuckled my seat belt and turned around so I could see Ryan’s face. “She got your letter,” Ryan said, “and she asked me if I told you all of those things and I told her the truth!” He suddenly sounded much older than nine. “She said that Dad and Sarah wanted me to live with them and she asked me if I wanted to live with you.”

  “And?” Aron asked gently.

  “I said I did,” Ryan said rather defiantly. “But,” he continued, “I still love my mom and I want to see her.”

  I was so impressed with the maturity of this little nine-year-old boy, and any misgivings that I’d had in the past about being motherly toward him or accepting a mother role vanished. All I wanted to do was to hug and hold this precious child forever and tell him every day how proud I was of him for making such a grown-up decision. I wished I could have been as strong as Ryan was at that moment when I was his age; he seemed to understand that what his mother was doing was absolutely wrong and he nee
ded to leave. But he also showed his willingness to forgive and forget by wanting her to remain in his life, something I wasn’t willing to do with my mom. Ryan was only nine years old, and he already understood right from wrong and took it upon himself to make a decision that most adults wouldn’t be able to make.

  We honored Ryan’s wishes and had Andy draw up a custody order asking the judge to award Aron full custody of Ryan and award Vicki with weekly visitation, biweekly weekend visitation, and an entire month every summer. Although Ryan had assured us that Vicki was going to sign the papers without a fight, we weren’t going to believe a thing until we saw her sign the custody agreement in front of the judge.

  The court day came, and just as Ryan promised, Vicki marched into the courtroom and handed her copy of the custody order over to Andy.

  “Here, just give this to the judge and have him stamp it or whatever the hell he does. I already signed it.” Vicki turned to Aron and me and sneered in our faces. “Just remember,” she said, “I gave him to you because that’s what he wanted.” Vicki looked directly at Aron. “Sic a shrink on me, will you? I’m not falling for that shit.”

  Ha! I thought, I knew that would get you! Too afraid of people finding out what a nut you really are?

  Vicki then directed her glare at me. “And I can get him back anytime I want if I think he’s being mistreated by either of you!” I managed to bite my tongue and maintain my composure.

  Aron calmly said, “Good-bye, Vicki, you can pick Ryan up at our house for your weekend visitation this Saturday at nine.”

  Vicki spun around on her heel and stormed out of the courtroom. She’s just like Mom, I thought as I watched her walk out of the courtroom.

  Andy ran back into the judge’s chambers to ask the judge if he could legally sign what Vicki had given him. Luckily, Vicki had signed the order in the presence of a notary public, and because of that stamp from the notary, the judge was able to agree and sign the custody order. Just like that, it was done. Aron had custody of Ryan and we were now a real family. As we pulled away from the courthouse Aron suddenly broke down into tears.

  “I couldn’t have done this without you,” he sobbed. “I would have never thought that I could get custody of Ryan and have a beautiful home to bring him back to. Thank you so much for being with me.” He sniffed and looked at himself in the mirror. “God, you must think I’m such a pussy for crying so much.”

  I smiled at him and stroked the side of his head. “Actually, that’s one of the things I love most about you,” I said softly. “Now! Let’s go pick up Ryan from school and bring him home.”

  Aron and I had scheduled the rest of the week off of work and we decided to take Ryan out of school during this time as well. We felt it was important to spend the week transitioning Ryan into his new environment and transitioning ourselves into the roles of full-time parents. We decorated his room, took him clothes shopping, went on long walks, and cooked dinner together every night. And after dinner each night, Ryan would call Vicki to tell her about his day and would end every conversation with, “I love you, Mom.” It hurt my heart each time I heard him say it; it was just a daily reminder that Ryan was a stronger person than I was.

  Vicki was right on time and honking her horn over and over in our driveway on her first weekend visitation with Ryan. Aron and I were definitely not looking forward to Ryan spending time away from us so soon after he had moved in, but we had no choice but to pack his overnight bag and send him on his way. We watched from the front door as Vicki made sure that we saw her hugging and kissing Ryan and telling him loudly how much his mother missed him. Ryan wasn’t nervous at all and waved happily at us as they pulled away.

  Aron looked at me and sighed. “I think I’m going to go into the basement and get some work done, get my mind off of things, if you don’t mind.”

  “No, no,” I answered, “not at all! I have to clean the house anyway.” I gave Aron an understanding smile and gestured for him to go downstairs.

  Later that afternoon, after Aron had fiddled in the basement and I had scrubbed the house spotless, we were sitting on the back porch watching television and talking about what color we were going to paint Ryan’s walls when the phone rang. I got up and went into the dining room to answer the phone.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Yes, is this Sarah, Aron’s wife?” a man’s voice asked on the other end of the phone.

  I got nervous. “Um, yes? May I ask who is calling?”

  “This is Dr. Brook, Ryan’s doctor,” the man answered. “Oh, yes! Is everything OK?”

  Dr. Brook had been Ryan’s doctor for many years, and Aron had made a few jewelry pieces for him so we knew him well. “Well, is Aron there? Or maybe I can just tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” I pressed.

  “Well,” Dr. Brook continued, “I just got a fax from Godfrey Memorial Hospital requesting patient records for Ryan because he is in the ER right now.”

  “WHAT?” I screamed. “Aron, Ryan is in the ER!”

  Aron ran into the dining room. “ER, what’s going on, Sarah, what the hell is going on?” he yelled.

  “Shhh!” I couldn’t hear what Dr. Brook was trying to say. “Dr. Brook, what is Ryan in there for?”

  He paused and said, “I don’t understand this but it looks like his mother has him in there and is claiming that Aron has sexually assaulted Ryan.”

  I dropped the phone onto the dining room floor, the color drained out of my face, and I looked at Aron with horror in my eyes.

  “Sarah,” Aron pleaded, “what is going on?”

  “It’s Vicki,” I managed to whisper hoarsely; “she’s got Ryan at the hospital right now. She is telling people that you raped Ryan.” Aron put his hand over his mouth and backed away from me.

  “Sarah? Sarah?” I had forgotten about Dr. Brook. I knelt over and picked the phone up off the floor.

  “I’m sorry,” I said into the receiver. “I just can’t believe what you said to me.”

  “Well, that’s why I called,” he said. “Personally knowing Aron, I know something isn’t right and I wanted to make sure you two had the heads-up. They are probably going to be sending DCFS to your house after they complete the medical examination because DCFS has already called me about this.”

  I had to get off of the phone before I passed out. “Thank you for doing this for us, letting us know.”

  “Tell Aron to call me if he needs me,” Dr. Brook said, and I hung up.

  Aron took his hand down from his mouth and sat down at a chair in the dining room. “Tell me this is a joke, Sarah,” he pleaded, “tell me that this is a giant misunderstanding!”

  I couldn’t tell him what he wanted to hear; I was in a state of shock. Never in a million years had I thought that Vicki would resort to something like this, accusing my husband of inflicting abuse on his own child.

  “Do think Ryan went along with this?” Aron asked me as tears rolled down his face.

  “No!” I exclaimed. “I don’t think he went to Vicki’s this weekend to tell her that you were raping him!” I couldn’t believe I just heard those words come out of my mouth.

  “I have to call Dad,” Aron said. He pulled out his cell phone and went on the back porch and shut the door. I could hear him wailing and crying to Sam on the phone and my heart split in two; I felt out of control and I didn’t know how to fix this situation. Aron came in from the back porch and cleared his throat.

  “What did he say?” I asked.

  “He said it’s not true so we should calm down because common sense and the truth is on our side.” Aron held out his arms. “I really need a hug right now,” he said sadly. I ran over to him and we held each other tight.

  “It’s going to be OK,” I said into his shoulder. “Your dad is right. This is all a lie and we will prevail.”

  Aron pulled away from me. “You don’t need this shit, Sarah.” He hung his head down. “I understand if you would want to leave me and get away from this mess.”
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  “I will never leave you!” I said rather forcefully. “Look at me!” Aron lifted his head up and looked at my eyes. “I love you, and trust me, we can get through this.” Before Aron could say another word, we heard a knock on the door.

  “That must be DCFS already! Damn, they’re fast,” Aron said and ran to the front door where he was greeted by a smartly dressed African-American woman with a clipboard.

  “Are you Aron?” she said as she peered around him into the house.

  “Yes ma’am,” Aron said shakily.

  “I’m Mrs. Peters from the Department of Children and Family Services and I’m here to investigate a complaint of sexual assault filed this morning regarding your son Ryan.”

  “Yes ma’am.” Aron stepped aside. “Please come in and sit down.”

  Mrs. Peters came in the house and sat down in a chair in our living room, looked around, and started taking notes on her clipboard. As she was writing she glanced up at me. “And you are Sarah?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I said. “I’m Aron’s wife.”

  Mrs. Peters put her clipboard down and took a deep breath. “OK, here is what is going on. Ryan was brought into the emergency room this morning by his mother—”

  “Who just picked him up for her first weekend visitation,” Aron interrupted.

  “Yes, sir, please don’t interrupt me,” Mrs. Peters continued. “Ryan was given an examination and we interviewed him. There were no signs of sexual abuse and he denied any sexual contact between him and Aron.”

  I breathed a deep sigh of relief as Mrs. Peters continued to talk. “However, in every sexual abuse case we have to investigate, and during the course of our investigation this morning we noticed a bruise on his leg.”

  “A bruise?” I said sarcastically. “He’s nine; he could have gotten it from anywhere!”