Chapter 13
The pediatrician's office smelled like disinfectant and crayons. Ellie sat on my lap in the waiting room chair because she wouldn't sit in the little plastic seats against the wall. Her purple t-shirt was clean this time. She'd picked it herself that morning from the laundry basket. Her head was still bare, the scalp pale under the fluorescent lights, and she kept one hand on my wrist like she was checking I was still there.
I hadn't slept much. The bag with the evidence was in the diaper bag at my feet, zipped shut. The clippers were inside a grocery bag, then inside that. I kept thinking about the weight of them.
A nurse called us back. Ellie pressed her face into my gray t-shirt when the door closed behind us.
Dr. Nichols had seen Ellie since she was two weeks old. She knocked once and came in with her tablet, her hair pulled back, no white coat. She smiled at Ellie first.
"Hey there, bug," she said softly. "Mind if I take a look?"
Ellie didn't answer, but she didn't pull away when I shifted her forward on the exam table. I kept my hand on her back.
Dr. Nichols snapped on gloves and leaned in. She didn't rush. She parted the air above Ellie's scalp with her fingertips, light enough not to press.
"The nicks near the right ear are closing well," she said, charting as she went. "No redness, no swelling. No sign of infection." She tilted Ellie's head gently with two fingers. "Crown abrasions are scabbed over. Forearm one is almost flat."
I watched her pen move.
"Did you have to use anything?" I asked.
"Just gentle wash, keep it clean. No ointment needed now unless she picks," she said. She pulled her gloves off and looked at me directly. "I'm documenting healing without complications. I'll also note what you reported to me last time — that she's had trouble sleeping, startles easier, doesn't want to be set down. That's a typical trauma response for her age. Doesn't mean something's wrong with her. Means she felt unsafe and her body remembers."
Ellie reached for me. I lifted her off the paper and held her against my chest. Her breath was warm on my neck.
"Is she okay, though?" I asked, quieter.
"Physically, she's healing well," Dr. Nichols said. "Emotionally, she needs time and predictability. Keep routines tight. No surprises. You're doing the right thing bringing her in."
She printed the visit note and handed it to me. I folded it and slid it into the bag next to the other papers.
In the car before we went into the sheriff's station, Ellie was buckled in her seat staring at the roof.
"Mama," she said. "Will my hair grow back?"
It wasn't the same as Diane saying it. Diane had thrown it like a wall to hide behind. Hair grows back. Like that was supposed to make the cuts okay.
I turned in the front seat so I could see her face. I kept my voice even.
"Yes, baby," I said. "It will. Slowly at first. Then more. It'll take a little while, but it will grow back. And we will keep your head clean and safe while it does."
She touched her scalp with her palm, careful around the sore spot.
"Will it hurt?" she asked.
"Not like before," I said. "It might itch a little when it comes in. If it does, you tell me and we'll help it."
She nodded once and looked out the window. I reached back and squeezed her ankle. She didn't pull away.
The sheriff's station lobby was cold. The same deputy was at the front desk. I signed in and asked for the investigator handling our case. The woman who came out was not much older than me, plain jacket, notebook already in her hand.
"Lauren," she said. "You have the items?"
I set the diaper bag on the counter and unzipped it. I hadn't wanted to carry the clippers loose, so I'd left them in the grocery bag the deputy had given me two days before, sealed and labeled. I set that down first. Then the envelope with the printed photos — the ones I'd taken with my phone the night we got home, the ones the ER nurse had allowed me to photograph from their chart, and the visit note from today.
"I have the clippers Diane used," I said. "They've been in my custody since I took them from the house that day. I didn't clean them. I have photos of Ellie's scalp and arm from the day it happened, and the pediatrician's follow-up note from this morning saying they're healing without infection."
She nodded and didn't touch the bag with her bare hands. She put on gloves, opened the outer bag enough to confirm the shape, then set it into a larger evidence bag on her side of the counter.
"We'll log this as a supplemental drop," she said, writing. "Chain of custody will reflect you recovered them from the residence and held them until today. Photos are timestamped?"
"Yes," I said. "On my phone. I printed them but I can email originals."
"Please do," she said. She slid a receipt across for me to sign. "This goes to CPS and our file together. Medical file shows healing. That's good. Case stays pending review. No decision until the county attorney looks at everything."
I signed where she pointed. My hand shook a little.
"Is there anything else you need from us right now?" I asked.
"Just keep her routine steady," she said, glancing toward where Ellie was sitting on the plastic chair by the door, kicking her brown shoes lightly against the legs. "And keep contact with Diane supervised only, like you have been. You've documented well."
Ellie slipped off the chair and came to stand against my leg. I put my hand on her bare head, very lightly, just to let her know I was there.
Outside, the air had warmed. I buckled Ellie in and sat for a minute with my hands on the wheel before I started the car. Her file was closed to healing. The evidence wasn't in my closet anymore. It was where it should be.
Ellie was quiet in the back, but her breathing was even.
"We're going home," I told her.
May you like
She nodded. "Okay, Mama."
I pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the apartment, both of us stable for the first time in two days.
