The ringing phone filled her with dread. Palms sweating, Kelli brought the phone up to her ear.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Mitchell,” a man’s voice came over the speaker. “We have suspicion that you have been abusing your daughter. A report has been submitted anonymously. A social worker will be by shortly to investigate deeper.”
Kelli stopped breathing. Her hand went limp and the receiver fell out of her hand onto the floor. First her husband died, then this? She loved her six year old daughter, Camille. She would never do anything to hurt her.
“Hello? Mrs. Mitchell, are you still there…” the man on the phone repeated. But Kelli wasn’t listening. She walked to the back of the apartment, her bare feet shuffling softly against the plain white carpet. Her daughter’s soft voice filled the hall and Kelli paused, silently crying.
Peeking around the doorway, she saw her little girl playing with dolls, unaware of how her life would change in a few hours. But Kelli knew that she wasn’t abusing her child. She had seen the bruises on Camille’s arms and face, but they weren’t from her.
The first time she had seen the bruises was a few months ago. She was giving her daughter a bath and noticed her arms were purple and black with a tint of green. She had asked Camille about it, but she didn’t respond. Kelli asked many more times (usually twice a day), but her daughter never said a word about it.
The doorbell rang and Kelli jumped. How long had she been standing there, engulfed in her own thoughts? She wandered to the door and stooped low in order to look through the peep hole.
Sure enough, a tall woman in a business suit was standing outside. Hand on the doorknob, Kelli debated whether or not to open the door. She knew there was enough time to grab Camille, sneak out the back and run to her brother’s house, just next door. The social worker would never find them! But her hand seemed to have a different idea as it twisted the doorknob and flung back the door, letting in the cool winter air.
“Hello Mrs. Mitchell. My name is Savannah Outen,” the lady said, extending her hand. Kelli didn’t accept it; she simply stood transfixed, glued to the spot. Savannah pulled back her hand as if nothing happened. “Where is your daughter? I need to talk to her alone.”
Right on cue, Camille pounded down the hall and came to a stop at the door. Her dark black curls bounced as she stopped herself. She looked up at the social worker and said, “Your eyes are black like mine. Does that make us evil?”
Savannah smiled. “No, it does not. It just makes us that much more special.” She reached for Camille’s hand and led her into the kitchen. Kelli made to follow them, but Savannah gave her a look that made it clear that Kelli was not invited.
She turned to look in the mirror, her face staring back at her. In the corner of the reflection was a picture. Spinning around, she walked to the opposite wall, gripped the edges of the picture, and lifted it off of the wall. It was her wedding picture. She was standing with her husband, Henry.
“Oh, Henry, help me,” she whispered, her finger tracing his face. A smile was upon it and he looked the happiest he had ever been. His black hair was messy that day, the wind tossing it around during the wedding. Kelli’s dress was simple; a long, white beauty. Her blond hair had also been tossed around in the wind, her long curls twisting together.
Henry had left her a few months ago. Of course, it wasn’t his choice; he was killed. He was yet another victim of drunk driving. He was coming home late from work and a drunk driver hit him head on. He had no chance of survival.
“Help me,” Kelli repeated. “You know I would never hurt our daughter. She’s the love of my life.” A single tear rolled off of her cheek and landed on Henry’s face. She quickly reached down and wiped it away, not wanting to tarnish one of the only happy memories she had of him.
“Mrs. Mitchell, we would like to talk to you.”
Kelli turned to see Savannah standing in the doorway, Camille in her arms. Kelli hurried over and lifted her daughter out of the social workers hands and cradled her close.
“I haven’t been abusing her.” She said firmly. Savannah smiled.
“Yes I know, you’re daughter told me everything. Did you know that she is being bullied at school?”
Kelli looked wide eyed at her daughter. Camille blushed and hid her face against her mother’s shoulder.
“She never mentioned anything before.”
“Well, you see,” Savannah started. “She was scared when I explained how we were going to take her away. So she opened up and told me about a boy named Jack who’s been punching her on the playground.”
“But, why hasn’t the teacher done anything?” Kelli was confused. Wasn’t she trusting the teacher to watch over her kid when she sent her to school? School was supposed to be safe. Sure, she’d heard of bullying, but she never imagined that it would happen to her kid.
“I don’t know Mrs. Mitchell. I specialize in child abuse, not bullying. I’m afraid if you want answers you’ll have to go to Camille’s teacher,” Savannah picked up her coat and turned to leave. “Have a nice day Mrs. Mitchell.” She walked out of the house and out of their lives.
Kelli tossed Camille into the air, making her squeal with joy.
“You may not have a perfect life,” Kelli told her daughter. “But we’re still together. Never forget that. As long as you have family, you’re life will still go on.”
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