“But you need to know the truth about my mother.”

Ms. Vance raised an eyebrow.

“I am willing to listen to your statement,” she said.

“But I must inform you that a temporary protection order has already been requested.”

She pulled a folded yellow document from the back of her clipboard.

My heart stopped.

“A protection order?” I whispered.

“To place the child in the temporary custody of a designated family member,” Ms. Vance said.

She looked directly at Leo.

“Specifically, your mother, Josephine Sullivan.”

The yellow paper in Ms. Vance’s hand looked bright against the sterile gray of the hospital room.

My chest tightened until I could barely draw a breath.

“My mother?” Leo’s voice was a low rumble, vibrating with a danger he rarely let show.

“She cannot have him,” I whispered, reaching out to touch the metal railing of Sam’s crib. “She’s the one who did this to him.”

Ms. Vance did not look up from her paperwork.

She adjusted her wire-rimmed glasses, her fingers tapping a rhythm on her plastic clipboard.

“Mrs. Josephine Sullivan filed a formal report three hours ago,” Ms. Vance said.