“File it,” I said. “I want this documented properly.”
My sister sat with me in the waiting room while Dr. Halloran made the call.
I remember staring at a poster on the wall about seasonal allergies.
Unable to process anything except the sound of my own daughter’s voice from the night before.
Calm.
Matter-of-fact.
Describing something no four-year-old should ever have needed language for.
A caseworker named Naomi Prescott called that same afternoon.
Gentle but thorough.
She walked me through what would happen next.
An interview with Josie, conducted by a specialist trained to talk with young children.
Separate from me.
Recorded.
Structured specifically so nothing would be accidentally suggested to her.
I wasn’t allowed in the room.
I sat outside for forty minutes that felt considerably longer.
My sister’s hand gripping mine the entire time.
Josie came out afterward holding a small stuffed elephant the specialist had given her.
Calm.
Seemingly unbothered by the whole process.
