Mia’s eyes started to close, the pain medication pulling her back towards sleep. David and I sat with her through the night, taking turns dozing in the uncomfortable hospital chairs. Every time a nurse came to check her vitals, Mia would startle awake, frightened by the noise and the unfamiliar surroundings.
Around three in the morning, my phone buzzed with a text from Sarah.
Margaret is posting on social media. You need to see this.
I opened the app with shaking hands. Sure enough, Margaret had written a long post about how her family was being torn apart by false accusations. She claimed Mia had attacked Eleanor first, that her granddaughter had behavioral problems we refused to address, that she was praying for the truth to come out. The post already had dozens of comments, mostly from people I didn’t know, expressing support for Margaret and judgment toward us.
I showed David, watching his face go from exhausted to furious in seconds.
“She posted this while Mia is in the hospital with a concussion,” he said through gritted teeth. “She’s literally lying about a child being assaulted to protect Eleanor.”
“Can she do this? Isn’t this illegal somehow?” I asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out.”
David pulled out his phone and started taking screenshots of Margaret’s post and every comment on it. Then he began searching for attorneys who specialized in family law and defamation. He was meticulous by nature, his work as a financial auditor having trained him to spot discrepancies and follow money trails. Now, he turned those skills on his own family with surgical precision.
The next morning, we were allowed to take Mia home. She moved slowly, wincing at bright lights and loud noises. The doctor prescribed pain medication and strict instructions about watching for signs of a worsening concussion. No screens, no physical activity, no school for at least a week.
My mother arrived at our house before we did, having let herself in with the spare key. She had cleaned up the blood from the hallway carpet, though a faint stain remained. The baby shower decorations were gone, the gifts piled neatly in the corner of the living room. The envelope basket sat on the kitchen counter, nearly empty.
“I saved the cards that were left,” Mom said, her voice tight. “Most people took theirs back when they heard what happened. They wanted to hand them to you directly instead of leaving them where that woman could get to them.”
Mia settled onto the couch with her favorite blanket and her stuffed elephant. Within minutes, she was asleep again, exhausted from the ordeal. I sat beside her, one hand on her arm, unable to stop touching her and reassuring myself she was okay.
David disappeared into his home office. I could hear him on the phone, his voice low and intense. When he emerged two hours later, his expression was determined.
“I found an attorney. His name is Marcus Vance, and he specializes in family law and criminal cases involving minors. He wants to meet with us tomorrow morning. He also gave me the name of a defamation lawyer who might be able to help with Mom’s social media posts.”
“How much is this going to cost?” I asked, already dreading the answer. We had been saving for the baby, for new furniture and medical expenses. Legal fees hadn’t been in the budget.
“Marcus said not to worry about that right now. He wants to review the case first, but he mentioned that if we win, we can pursue damages to cover our legal costs and Mia’s medical expenses.”
