I was told Mr. and Mrs. Winters had taken the position of my foster parents. They told me that meant I would be living with them for the time being and they would take care of me. I couldn't imagine feeling happier to hear that I could stay with the Winters family, if only for a limited time, without having to have any permission from my momma.

Around nine in the morning, I was taken to an X-ray to see if there was evidence of broken bones, just to be safe. The X-ray showed that the ribs I had broken when I was younger had not healed properly due to improper care and could be the cause of pain in the future. Another potential problem was a bruised ankle I could have received from falling during my trek to the Winters while delirious with pain. However, both would not be long-term problems and could be healed with time.

The Winters spent the rest of the morning telling me how the interview would go. They warned me that the police officer would ask hard questions that might make me upset. I was told they wouldn't force me to talk, but I at least needed to use a notepad to write some answers. I worried I wouldn't be strong enough to answer.

Two men came into the room around lunchtime. One man, a tall and muscular police officer, wore a dark blue uniform with an intimidating gun in a holster on his hip. He had a scowl on his round face and he looked tense.

The other man was almost his opposite. He wore a brown suit and wore glasses on his skinny face. His body was small and short and he had a large smile.

Both walked to Mr. and Mrs. Winters and they introduced themselves before talking in a hushed whisper. Mr. and Mrs. Winters brought a chair on either side of the bed, holding on to my hands. The two strangers sat in two chairs at the foot of the bed.

When they turned to me, I had trouble getting a breath to my lungs. I wanted to get out of the bed and run. I didn't want to talk about my momma, I didn't want to hear what they had to say.

Mr. Winters smoothed my hair and whispered that I had nothing to worry about. Mrs. Winters held the back of my hand to her lips, shushing me. The nicer looking man smiled at me. "There nothing to worry about, Eden. I'm Charles and I will be your CPS investigator. This is Jerry and he is in charge of your mother's case. We need to ask some questions so you can get back to healing."

He looked at me kindly. I nodded slowly, trying to calm myself. "Alright, let's get started." He took out a pad of paper and a pen and looked to me. "Eden, does your mother drink?" I nodded my head. He wrote down a note. "Does she get angry when she drinks?" I nodded quickly.

"Very good." He handed me my own notepad and a pen. "If you can't talk to us, I must ask that you write down your answers. These answers will help you get to a safer place, sweetheart. I need you to answer honestly, it's very important. Take your time. We can wait if writing takes a while."

I nodded again. I readied myself for the questions he had to ask. "Eden, when your mother drinks, does she hit you?" I sucked in a breath, trying to keep calm. I wanted to answer. I needed to answer, but I felt as if Momma was in the room with us, staring me down. I was on the verge of hyperventilating, scared of messing up.

"Eden," Mrs. Winters called to me, snapping me out of my panicked state. I looked into her beautiful, blue eyes so much like her youngest son's and I calmed almost instantly. "If you don't tell us, we can't help you. Please, baby, we'll keep you safe. Nobody will hurt you now."

I finally nodded my head yes. He nodded back and wrote another note on his notepad.

"Can you tell us, show us, or write what she does to hurt you, Eden?" His eyes were earnest, kind. I knew he was only trying to help, but still, tears flooded my eyes and spilled onto my blue hospital gown.

My hands shook and a sob rocked my shoulders. I would tell them. I could no longer pretend my mother loved me. I let go of Mr. Winters hand and took off the blanket covering my legs. I pointed at the white bandage first. I took the pad of paper and wrote burn in the corner of the page. I looked into Charles' eyes to see if he was taking notes. When he sent me an encouraging nod, I pointed to my forehead where a large bandage covered a knot my momma had given me. I wrote below my previous writing throw and yell.

I wished to tell him how painful my bones felt or how hard it was to face the day knowing I was hated so much. Instead, I pointed at the multitude of scars and bruises that permeated my skin and started to write. I wrote slowly at first, words like punch, slap, hit. As my brain took over, I thought of the way my Momma told me she wished I'd die or that she could kill me. I became infuriated, mad that I was given her as a parent. My hands wrote angrily: whip, belt, choke, spank, throw, scream, force, bat. Tears spilled fiercely down my bruised cheeks and I wiped at them, not done writing.

The pen made scratching noises on the pad of paper, my hands furiously scribbled on the page. The page filled with words to describe what my mother did to me. I pointed to my head. Neglected, hated, starved, strangled, pushed, grabbed.

But I wasn't done. So many years of keeping it in, not telling anyone, made the need to tell someone more urgent. Name calling, screaming, abandonment, isolation, blame, abuse.

I took a deep breath, trying to see through my tears.

I wrote in tiny letters, most likely to hide the words I wrote from the imaginary mother standing in the corner of my hospital room.

I lived in the basement.

I slept on a toddler bed.

I ate their leftovers.

She blamed me for my daddy leaving.

She told me she wanted me dead.

I stared at the paper, trying to compose myself before I tried to answer another question.

I looked at Charles and he looked thoroughly intrigued. Jerry had leaned forward in his chair, trying to see what I wrote down. Mrs. Winters was crying, quiet sobs escaping the hand covering her mouth. Mr. Winters' face was red with anger.

Charles cleared his throat. "How old were you when this started." I held up three fingers. I was three years old. Mrs. Winters sobs shook her shoulders. She mumbled quietly and I could only make out, 'she was just a baby'.

"Thank you, Eden." He gripped at the collar of his shirt and moved it around like it was too tight. "This can count as your statement, as well."

That seemed to make Mr. Winters relax a little. It was Jerry's turn to clear his throat. He spoke for the first time, "I will take the liberty of telling you what is to happen. We have already signed a petition of removal with dates and proof of abuse. This initial hearing will be tomorrow and we can already determine where her temporary home will be. We will need to have the mother a part of the process to determine the next steps."

Panicked seized my chest. Sobs wracked my body and I was gasping for breath. They told me I wouldn't be hurt. They said I'd be safe. I felt betrayed. I couldn't see her, she'd kill me.

"Eden, I assure you, Shanie Morrison will be handcuffed and will not be able to touch you. You have my word, you will be safe."

I wasn't convinced. I knew that Momma would try to hurt me. She always found a way to hurt me. Charles looked to us."The initial hearing is the most important part of this process. Our goal is to either get Shanie help so Eden can be safe in her care or-"

"Eden can't go back there. There has to be enough proof to take her away from that place." Mrs. Winters gripped my hand.

"As of now, there should be sufficient proof that Eden will be taken out of the care of her mother. However, if the defense can defend themselves, I cannot interfere unless Child Protective Services is called again. Our goal is to establish all the facts so she can't go back. I will say that cases like these can be hard to prove because neither of her siblings was harmed. However, with the medical evidence of long-term physical abuse, I'd say it would be hard to dispute."

"What do you have that could help us even more?"

"Well when we went to question Eden's mother, she was heavily intoxicated. When we asked questions such as where Eden slept, she led us to a room that appeared to have not been used in years. It didn't have a bed and dust covered every surface. When we pointed this out, she led us to the basement. We were able to find a toddler training bed with a mound of bloody t-shirts. She told us this was where Eden slept. When we began to ask about Eden's abuse or the whereabouts of Eden's father, she smashed a whiskey bottle on an officer's head.

"We took her into the station in handcuffs and she insisted that she would fight every step of the way. She claims Eden is her child and she can punish her any way she deems fit. However, with Mrs. Winters' log of the times she's seen odd bruises and the pictures and evidence we were able to determine days ago, I believe we will have a hard time losing this case. That being said, Eden may need to be able to testify at the trial. The trial should be within ninety to one-hundred-and-twenty days. Eden will be able to give strong evidence in literature or signs, but the case will be stronger with her words. The process will begin tomorrow. I have faith that Eden can move into a new home safe if we do this right."

With a final goodbye, the men walked out of the room, leaving us with tear-stained faces, gut-wrenching fear, and a tiny bloom of hope.