As we walked out of the station, the night air felt like a refreshing balm against the heated tension of the precinct. My mind was still racing, replaying every detail of what just transpired, but at least for the moment, Dylan was safe. I glanced over at him; his eyes were weary and filled with a mix of relief and lingering fear.
I knew this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. The drive home was silent, punctuated only by the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from Dylan.
I wanted to ask him about what happened, to dig deeper into the events that led to this moment, but I knew he needed space to process it. Instead, I focused on what I could control: ensuring his safety and planning the next steps to protect him. When we got home, Dylan went straight to his room.
I followed, standing at the doorway as he flopped onto his bed, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with him. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked gently. He shook his head, his voice muffled by his pillow.
“Not now, Dad. I’m just… tired.”
I nodded, understanding more than he realized. “Okay.
Just remember, you’re not alone in this. We’ll get through it—together.”
As he drifted off, I made my way to the kitchen, where I found myself standing by the window, staring into the night. I felt a mixture of anger and helplessness.
Anger at Mark for his deceitful actions and for laying hands on my son, and a sense of helplessness because, despite my position, I couldn’t protect Dylan from everything. But I was determined. The next morning, I phoned my captain to explain the situation.
He listened patiently, offering support and ensuring me that the department would conduct a thorough investigation into Mark Carver’s history of complaints. It was a small comfort, but a necessary step towards justice. Over the following weeks, the investigation unfolded.
Evidence was gathered, testimonies were collected, and slowly but surely, a different picture of Mark Carver emerged—a pattern of manipulation, control, and abuse. CPS became involved, and Dylan was given a social worker who specialized in family dynamics. It was a long road, but the truth began to surface.
Throughout it all, Dylan showed resilience I hadn’t expected. He started talking about his experiences, not just with his social worker, but with me, too. Each conversation felt like a step towards healing.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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