My son had believed her.
Not because he didn’t love his child. Because he was hundreds of miles away and trusted his wife to tell him what was happening inside his own home.
“She told me he threatened to run outside tonight,” he said.
“He was standing outside without a coat when I arrived.”
“She said he wouldn’t put one on.”
I looked through the narrow window in the hospital door at my grandson’s purple-red fingers beneath the blanket.
“He says she took it.”
My son didn’t answer.
I gave him the incident number from the General and told him to call the family advocacy office connected to his old installation himself. Then I added one more thing.
“Don’t call your wife yet. Get the record first.”
He did.
While he was making that call, my daughter-in-law arrived at the hospital with one of the women who had been laughing inside her house.
