Chapter 2 - Somewhere Better Suited for Children Like You
The chapel music stopped.
I did not know who gave the signal.
Maybe the priest.
Maybe my brother Michael.
Maybe the musicians simply realized nobody was walking down the aisle.
I carried Emily into the small office behind the chapel.
Rebecca followed.
So did Linda.
I closed the door.
“What is already paid for?”
Rebecca folded her arms.
“Daniel, you are making this much worse than it needs to be.”
“Answer me.”
She exhaled slowly.
“A school.”
“What school?”
“A residential school.”
I stared at her.
Emily began crying again.
I held her closer.
“You arranged boarding school for my seven-year-old daughter?”
“It’s not boarding school.”
Rebecca replied.
“It’s a structured educational environment.”
“Where?”
“Connecticut.”
We lived in Pennsylvania.
My daughter looked at me.
“Daddy, she said I have to sleep there.”
I felt sick.
“How long?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“The first term is twelve weeks.”
“Twelve weeks?”
“Initially.”
I could barely believe the conversation.
“We have never discussed sending Emily anywhere.”
“We discussed her adjustment issues.”
“No.”
“We discussed therapy after her mother died.”
“That was three years ago.”
“And she still has attachment problems.”
Rebecca said.
Emily went completely still.
I stared at her.
“Do not diagnose my daughter.”
“I’m not.”
“Then who is?”
Rebecca reached for her purse.
She removed a folder.
Everything had been prepared.
Applications.
Program brochures.
Payment confirmations.
Transportation paperwork.
A scheduled pickup.
Tomorrow morning.
The day after our wedding.
My hands shook.
“You were sending her away tomorrow?”
Rebecca looked frustrated now.
“You make it sound cruel.”
“How should I make it sound?”
“Like an opportunity.”
“For whom?”
No answer.
I opened the paperwork.
The program was called Hawthorne Ridge Academy.
The photographs showed large brick buildings surrounded by woods.
The brochure described behavioral stabilization.
Independent living preparation.
Family separation support.
Those words made me sick.
Emily had no behavioral diagnosis.
She was an ordinary child who still missed her mother.
Then I saw my name.
Daniel Hayes.
Parent authorization.
Signed.
I stared at the signature.
“That isn’t mine.”
Rebecca’s face went pale.
Linda stepped forward.
“Daniel, please understand.”
I looked at her.
“You forged my name?”
Rebecca said nothing.
Then Emily whispered.
“She told me you signed it.”
I slowly turned back toward my almost-wife.
The wedding was no longer the biggest problem in the room.
May you like
A forged signature meant Rebecca had not merely planned something behind my back.
She had created documents to make it look like I agreed.
