Wyatt was quiet as he got in the car. His little hand reached up for his seatbelt, and my heart practically shattered on the spot when I noticed the bruising on his little arms. I had no doubt how they’d gotten there, realizing instantly that my worst nightmare had come true. I’d prayed that this night would never come, but deep down, I always knew it would. I had to fight back the tears when I looked over to his precious little face. It killed me to think that his father had hurt him, and everything in me wanted to take Wyatt and run – get as far away from Michael as I could. I had to make sure it never happened again. Wyatt was such a wonderful little boy. He filled my life with so many blessings, and I just couldn’t understand how Michael could hurt him. My mind was full of questions. I desperately wanted to grill Wyatt about what had happened, but I knew I needed to tread very carefully. If he thought I was upset he would shut down, and I’d never find out exactly what happened.
I started the engine and said, “I’m sorry that Mrs. Daniels had to leave you tonight, Bud.”
“It’s okay. She had a family emergency,” he answered, looking towards the diner. Something had momentarily caught his attention, causing him to turn back in his seat to get a closer look. A few seconds passed, and then he turned back to me and said, “I think it was something bad. She was crying.”
“Yeah. She wouldn’t have left you unless it was really important. As soon as she called me, I came for you. I’m really sorry it took me so long.”
“It was okay. I knew you’d come,” he said with confidence, assuring me that he knew I wouldn’t let him down. The kid never ceased to amaze me. Even when everything went to hell in a handbasket, he could still see the positive side of things.
I slowly pulled out onto the highway and headed towards home. My chest ached with worry, so I took another deep breath, trying to settle my nerves. I watched Wyatt start to fiddle with the zipper of his jacket, seemingly unfazed by whatever happened. I hated to bring it all back up for him, but I needed to know what happened to him at Michael’s house tonight. Taking another deep breath, I tried my best to steady my voice as I asked him, “Can you tell me what happened at your Dad’s tonight, Bud?”
He looked away from me, peering out the window, and with very little emotion he said, “He got mad, so I left.” His little shoulders dropped in defeat as he thought back over what had happened. I hated seeing him look so unhappy. I just wanted to reach over and hold him, hug away the hurt that he was feeling, but we were still several miles from home.
“Why did he get mad?” I prodded.
He shrugged his shoulders and answered, “I don’t know. He was talking on his phone with grandma and then he started saying all these really bad words. When he hung up, he threw his phone on the table and started yelling at me.”
“What was he saying to you?”
“I can’t remember,” he lied. He always remembered everything – every little detail, every single word of every conversation. I knew he remembered exactly what his father had said. I just didn’t know why he wouldn’t tell me.
“Is that why you left?” I questioned.
“Yeah. You told me to leave if anything bad happened.”
“You’re right. I did.” I gently squeezed his hand and said, “You did the right thing. I’m so very proud of you.”
He looked over to me and asked, “Can I play my game when I get home?”
“Yeah, you can play, but just for a little while. You’ll need to take a shower before bed.” And just like that, he was done talking. There was so much more that I wanted to know, like how he got those bruises, but I decided not to push it further right now. He’d been through enough tonight.
As soon as I parked the car in the driveway, I turned to him and asked, “Can Momma get a hug?”
Without answering, he reached over, slipped his arms around my neck and squeezed. “Love you, Momma.”
Still holding him tight, I said, “Wyatt… you have bruises on your arms.”
Looking down at the bruises, he pulled away from our embrace and said, “It’s not that bad, Momma.”
“I’m a little worried about it. Can I take a picture of them? I just want to make sure it doesn’t get any worse,” I asked, as I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone.
“Okay,” he answered, holding out his arms for me. As soon as I took a couple of pictures, he jumped out of the car and ran towards the front door. I looked down at my phone to make sure the pictures were clear, knowing I’d need the evidence if I wanted to keep Michael away from Wyatt. Once we were inside, Wyatt spent a half an hour playing his game, then he informed me that it was time for his shower. After I got him situated, I decided to call Mrs. Daniels. I wanted to see how her husband was doing and let her know what had happened with Michael.