Chapter 2 - Pippa Sleeps in My Room
That night, Pippa did not sleep in her bedroom.
She slept beside me.
Not because I thought her room was unsafe.
Because she would not let go of my sleeve.
Police came first.
Then a child-protection investigator.
Then a pediatrician the next morning.
I did not hide my slap.
The backyard camera showed it anyway.
Camilla admitted using the cage.
But called it:
“structured consequence.”
The investigator asked:
“Was the child ever locked in overnight?”
Camilla said:
“No.”
Pippa had said:
I sleep there.
Different statements.
We needed evidence.
Not rage.
The pediatrician examined Pippa.
No significant physical injuries.
Mild irritation on both knees.
A small bruise on one elbow that could have come from ordinary childhood activity.
No dehydration.
No malnutrition.
That mattered.
We did not inflate facts.
Child abuse does not become more serious by inventing injuries that are not there.
Pippa was physically okay.
Emotionally, another question.
The doctor asked:
“Have you slept in the cage before?”
Pippa looked at me.
Then nodded.
“How many times?”
She held up four fingers.
Then five.
At five years old, counting episodes reliably was difficult.
The doctor asked instead:
“Does it happen a little or a lot?”
Pippa whispered:
“When Daddy trip.”
Business trips.
May you like
I traveled often.
That sentence would destroy me for months.
