My brain went into autopilot when the text flashed on my phone screen: Come home. Emergency. She couldn't explain any further than that. Lindsey's always straightforward, she says what she's thinking, she doesn't play mind games with me. Something was really wrong.

What was awaiting us at the house wasn't what I was expecting. Though, I'm not sure what I was expecting. Maybe some flames? Certainly not a police car parked out front.

"Dad," Eve says slowly, her voice shaking. What she means goes unsaid: What the fuck is going on?

"I don't know, Eve," I reply. I park the car on the curb and she and I immediately unbuckle our seatbelts and head into the house. Cautiously, might I add. No matter how much I want to run in there at full speed to make sure that my wife and unborn baby are okay.

The hallway is empty and so is the kitchen. Eve is close behind me as we step into the living room to find Lindsey sat up straight on the couch, her eyebrows knit, worry evident on her face. In one armchair sits a police officer, and in the other, a woman I've never seen before. She's wearing a white button up and a black pencil skirt. Her dark hair is up in a tight bun and square glasses frame her young looking face.

"He's here, officer," Lindsey says without even saying hello. "Can you tell us what's going on now? Please?"

"Have a seat, Mr. Way." The cop gestures to the space on the couch next to Lindsey, so I sit. "Before we get into it, this is Ms. Stephanie Diaz." He nods in the direction of the woman.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Way," she says pleasantly. We both stay silent. She turns to Eve, who's still standing in the doorway, fiddling with her sleeves nervously. "I'd like to talk to Ms. Way in private."

"Tell me what's going on first," Eve demands, sounding a lot less nervous than I know she is.

Diaz smiles at her sadly. "I'll explain everything. Come, is there somewhere we can go to talk?" She stands up from the chair.

Eve looks at me, and in her eyes I can see through the tough, stubborn image she's playing that she's scared. But I have no choice but to nod subtly. Her eyes widen like I've just grown a second head. She obviously can't believe I'm trusting this stranger with her.

"We can go upstairs," she says, sighing dejectedly and leading the way up to her room. Her footsteps on the stairs sound a little more aggressive than usual.

Cool, cool, cool, so my dad is just letting this happen. He's just leaving me to deal with this woman and wonder what the fuck is going on in the living room. This isn't the first time a cop has been in my living room, though, and anyone who knows my past shouldn't be surprised by that.

"Reported abuse."

"Reported child neglect."

"Reported sexual assault."

Reported, but never caught, until it was too late. Until I'd already had bones broken and my innocence taken away before I even knew what that meant.

I enter my bedroom and leave the door open, but Ms. Diaz shuts it behind her. I feel my pulse quicken and my palms start to sweat, so I shove my hands into my pockets. Still, I try not to let the nerves coursing through my veins show on my face.

"Why don't you have a seat," she says, gesturing to my bed.

I gesture in turn to the chair in the corner of my room so she sits down first. Somehow, it makes me feel a little better, like I have the high ground here.

When we're both sitting, Ms. Diaz crosses one leg over the other. "How are you, Evelyn?" she asks.

"Quit the small talk and tell me what the Hell is going on here," is what I want to say, but instead I mutter, "Fine."

"Do you remember me?"

My blood runs cold. "Do- do I remember you?"

"I was your social worker when you were younger. I placed you and took you out of your foster homes," she explains.

The nervousness I'm feeling quickly switches to anger. My quickening pulse no longer in result of being shut up in a room with a stranger, but because I'm shut up with someone who, as far as I'm concerned, directly helped fuck up my childhood. "So, you're telling me, you're the one who put me in those places? You- you ruined my life!"

"I can assure you, thorough background checks were conducted on those households—" I snort. "—and they were deemed fit."

I hold back from rolling my eyes at the woman sitting in front of me. A woman I should be able to remember, but can't. I guess those details from my past are fuzzy, overshadowed by the other shit. "Fine, whatever," I say with the wave of my hand. "So, what are you doing here?"

"You don't have to pretend with me, Evelyn," Ms. Diaz says, lowering her voice. I stare at her blankly. "We received a tip from an anonymous person at your school that you may be unsafe in this household. We've decided to act immediately as to avoid repeating the past."

"Unsafe in—"I shake my head disbelievingly. "No, no, no whoever told you that is a fucking liar!"

My mind immediately goes to Charlotte for the culprit of this "anonymous tip," kind of like how in Harry Potter the trio's minds always go to Severus Snape. Now, I'm not saying anyone here deserves a redemption arc, but somehow I don't think she'd care enough about my life to report anything. So who...

Ms. Diaz smiles at me sadly for a second time. "I know you've been manipulated in the past, and maybe you feel like you can't tell the truth in fear of—"

"I'm not being manipulated! And I am certainly not afraid to keep on living in this house!" I exclaim, jumping up off my bed. "This is the best life I've ever had, living with Gerard— my dad, alright? So, really, whoever told you that I'm 'unsafe' in this house, or whatever, was a liar."

"I understand that you're frustrated," Ms. Diaz says all too calmly. It does nothing to calm my rage, though, and only injects another bout of anger into my bloodstream. "But this is all being done for your safety."

"My safety?" I laugh humourlessly. "If you were concerned about my safety you wouldn't have let any creeps hurt me, or touch me, or get drunk and throw bottles at me! And if you're really concerned about my safety you're gonna get out of my house and leave me here and let nothing get in the way of letting me stay here."

Ms. Diaz looks unfazed as she stands from the chair, smoothing out her skirt and then her hair. "I see," she says. "Thank you for your time, I think the officer should be about done unless he thinks there's anything to worry about."

"He won't," I mumble.

She opens my bedroom door and the sound of her black heels click down the hallway and down the stairs. I consider slamming the door after her, but instead I follow with a generous amount of distance between us. I stand about halfway down the stairs, close enough to watch whatever scene I'm waiting for unfold.

Ms. Diaz clears her throat, although the sound of her shoes already brought her enough attention, and the officer who's name I still don't know stands up.

"Thank you for your time, Mr. and Mrs. Way," he says, extending his arm for a handshake from Gerard. He accepts, albeit reluctantly, and then the pair of hell-raisers in uniform leave the house.

The only sound is the front door swinging shut and then the police car pulling out, the wheels crunching on the driveway. My knees shake as I go down the rest of the stairs, my sweaty palms squeaking on the banister until I quickly wipe them on my pants. Gerard and Lindsey are holding hands tightly, both staring at the floor.

I'm the first to speak up as I sit where the cop used to be. "Dad?" I ask cautiously.

"Yeah, Evelyn?" he asks without raising his gaze.

"What just happened?"

He snaps his head up. "What did you tell your teacher?" His voice is accusatory, it makes me blink and jump back a bit.

"Mr. Philip? He asked why my math grade was dropping and I- I said it was hard to get things done at home lately." I pull my sleeves over my shaking hands.

Gerard covers his face in his hands, and when he looks up, he has a flash of anger in his eyes I don't see often. "That guy—" he points towards the door as though the cop is still standing there, "—just tried to tell us you're not safe here. Said something about reported child abuse? What did you really tell your teacher, Evelyn?" he asks again, on the edge of raising his voice.

"I- I told you!"

"Well your court case might just be fucked up because of that."

"Gee!" Lindsey gasps.

I manage to choke out a feeble, "Wh-what?"

"We have this reported abuse bullshit against us now!" he shouts.

"My mother has years of real abuse against her, Gerard, have you fucking forgotten!?" I shout back, this being the first time I've called him "Gerard" instead of "Dad" in a long time. "Have you forgotten what got me so messed up in the first place? Cause I haven't!"

His face softens and Lindsey turns her's away but I still caught the tears shining in her eyes. He puts an arm around her like he should, but the sight makes me feel even more alone.

Before he says anything, I speak up again, doing my best not to let my voice break. "I'm going upstairs." I stand from my seat and whip around the banister, running up the stairs two at a time, ignoring both of their pleas for me to come back.

When I'm alone I slide my phone out of my pocket and to top everything off see that Emerald didn't even bother texting like she does every Thursday.

I go straight to my bathroom and lock the door.