The Paper Trail

Content warning: Please be advised, this story contains scenes of domestic physical and emotional abuse that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

Christina felt painfully out of place. She sat in a rigid chair, its thin cushion providing no comfort for the bruises scattered all over. Fluorescent bulbs hum overhead, casting a sharp white light reflected in the polished tile floors.

Her eyes flickered between the glass doors and windows, tracking movement—the steady stream of parents ushering kids into the school. A single pane of glass separated them, but they might as well have been light years away. Their world was a far contrast from her own.

The receptionist, Ms. Carter, murmured into the phone as Christina felt her watching. A second glance, this time longer, assessing the damage. Bruises in fading hues along her cheekbone, a split lip, scratches and scrapes along the side of her face. Christina didn't just feel out of place; she was. This was not the time or place to be seen like this. But Christina's priorities weren't how other people felt about seeing her.

“Mrs. Long?” Ms Carter’s voice is gentle and careful in the way people speak when facing something uncomfortable.

“What can I do for you this morning?”

The words lodged at the edge of her throat, thick with hesitation, as she summoned the breath and nerve to respond. A cold wave washed from head to toe as she swallowed hard.

“I need to speak to counselor Hayes and Principal Reynolds, please.” Her voice frayed.

Ms. Carter nods, “Of course. Just a moment, please.”

Her grip finally loosened— fingers stiff, palms damp. She checked her phone, no missed calls, no text messages. By this time, his alarm to leave should have gone off. He was likely on his way to work.

Mrs. Hayes walked through the main office and into the principal's office as Ms Carter stood, offering a polite nod as she gestured towards the door.

Christina rises, legs tense, hands smoothing down the front of her shirt out of habit, as if she could smooth over the obvious injuries in hopes of looking better put together. She entered the office to see Mrs. Hayes and Mrs. Reynolds watching her with fleeting expressions of both concern and apprehension.

Mrs. Reynolds spoke first. Very professional but visibly concerned. “Christina, thank you for coming in. Please take a seat— can I get you something? Coffee, tea… water?”

“No, thank you.” She pulled out the chair and sat while taking a moment to focus on how to say—all that was on her mind.

Then Mrs. Hayes spoke in a very deliberate and calm way.”Well, why don't you tell us what's going on? Are you okay?”

She sat palms pressed against her lap, her pulse beating heavy, leaving a sore feeling in her veins. “It’s… been bad. Bad for a long time,” she said as her voice thinned by exhaustion,” bad honestly isn't even the right word.”Her pulse beat heavy, leaving a sore feeling in her veins. The words struggled to form but her mind didn't hesitate or ask permission—it dragged her back.

The night before.

Christina and Caleb lay on the floor, rolling around and playing. Caleb was pretending to be a Lion hunting his prey. Christina hid on all fours behind the coffee table with one eye peeking around the edge at Caleb approaching like a cat with his butt raised in the air.

Mike shoved open the front door and stumbled in with the scent of hops emanating off of him as

he kicked off his muddy steel-toe boots on to the freshly cleaned, crisp white carpet. He dropped onto the couch with a heavy thud, sinking into the cushions as he grabbed the remote off the armrest.

Christina promptly paced in and out of the kitchen, grabbed a plate of meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans. His favorite meal.

“Where is my drink!?” Mike abruptly shouts.

“Oh, it's chilling in the fridge. I'll be right back with that. Sorry, dear.”

She scrambles to the kitchen, opens the fridge, and grabs one of Mike's beers. She cracks it open and sets it back in front of him, as he shoves a hefty bite of meatloaf into his mouth.

“Seriously, Christina?!” Mike's voice is snappy and sharp, jolting her into jumping. “This meatloaf is dry and overcooked. And these potatoes… Did you put any seasoning in them at all? Have you ever heard of salt and pepper?”

She said nothing as he tightened his grip around his beer and continued to nurse it, washing down the dry and dull food. He pushed a half finished plate away signalling that this wasn't up to par for him to eat. She silently grabbed his empty bottle and traded it for a fresh one and then grabbed the half finished meal and walked back into the kitchen.

She turned to the sink, breathing in slow, controlled, shallow breaths. The scrape of the spoon filled the silence as she filled a container with the leftovers.

A single hot tear rolled off her chin onto the plate she held below. She let in one deep inhale as

her chest shuddered, swallowing a sob that she didn't want to let out.

“Seriously!? Now you're going to cry! Jesus Christ! You're the one who can't cook a decent meal. How the hell am I supposed to provide for you and your son with meals like that being served? And you have the nerve to cry, get over yourself!”

He got up and stomped into the kitchen, every step rattling various knick-knacks and clutter around the room, to which Christina couldn't hold back the feelings anymore and began bawling.

Christina’s breath hitched—her body stiffened. Her eyes glassy, holding back panic as her mind caved inward, collapsing into a quiet, stunned recess.

She froze in fear, barely even noticed the plastic container of mashed potatoes and meatloaf was ripped from her hands. A hollow thud as the container plunged through the bin.

Mike loomed over her, chest rising and falling—too fast, each breath venting fumes. His face red with rage as every hair on his neck stood on end. She couldn’t will her legs to move, instead, they caved outward, buckling to the ground.

Mike's fist dove into Christina’s face. His fingers tangled and, clutching at the hair on the side of her head, pulled her up by her scalp until she was on her feet.

“I give you Everything! Then—you mess up—Again!... and now I'm the bad guy—right!.... right!?” he screamed at her with spit flying off his lips.

He pulled her head away from the cabinets and then slammed it several times into a cupboard door, splintering its thin wood vinyl as her skull pressed through,

She hit the floor again before she even knew it. Dazed, spinning. Vision splitting, as dishes began to fall out of the broken cupboard. First one plate shattered on the ground, then another, he reached into the cupboard and ripped the shelf out with a sharp snap then heaved the shelf and remaining dishes onto Christina’s small, shaking silhouette curled on the floor, choking on sobs.

As the ringing in her ears began to dim, she heard Caleb whaling on the floor like a siren. She looked over to see Mike stepping towards the frantic, snot-dripping child. She reached out towards them. “No, don't. He's just a baby, please. Mike dont". Mike bent down. His shadow swallowed Caleb. His hand raised—hesitation—then, a swift slap to Caleb's mouth.

Mike stood and turned towards the fridge—flung it open—door slammed against the counter next to it, and then reached in to grab his last two bottles. He stepped over Christina as her world darkened at the edges before fading into consciousness.

“Christina?” Mrs. Reynolds says softly.

“I need to get him out. Never again—he can't do that ever again. I have to protect my son.”

Christina's demeanor broke as she began to weep, tears streaming down her face. “I have no

idea what to do,” she cried as her head sank into her chest.

Mrs. Reynolds reached out to Christina’s shoulder and held it. “What can we do to help you? Do you have somewhere safe to go tonight?”

“No, I have no family in town. I have very little money, so I can't really get a hotel. I've got work in about an hour and I don't have time to figure things out. I can't go back… I won't!”

Mrs. Hayes spoke in a reassuring tone.“Okay, well, I might be able to help you there. We have a ton of resources for you and Caleb. I can begin to compile them and I'll give them to you at pick up tonight. I'll also make some calls and get you into a room for the night. There are several avenues we can use to get you a hotel voucher for the night, or more if need be, until we find you a safe home.”

The words landed heavy in Christina’s chest, and she smiled through the tears and offered her hand to Mrs. Reynolds. “Thank you so much for your help!”

Mrs. Hayes hesitated for a half beat, then leaned forward. “Christina,” She said softly,” I don't want to overstep, but would it be alright if I offer you a hug?”

Christina swallowed hard, blinking back the fresh wave of emotion. She wiped at her cheeks, nodding gently.

Mrs. Hayes stepped forward and leaned in—arms opening, offering a quiet invitation. Christina leaned into Mrs Hayes shoulder, the scent of lilac and jasmine enveloping her in a calming aroma, steeping her senses in a soothing embrace.

She stepped out of the hug, and Mrs. Hayes gave a reassuring nod, a silent promise that there would be help waiting for her later—she wasn’t alone.

Christina clutched at her purse while digging one-handed to retrieve her cell. No texts, no calls. Nothing had changed—but everything would soon.

Mrs. Reynolds offered one more warm smile. “We’ll see you at pick-up, Mrs Long. If you need anything in the meantime, please don't hesitate to call.”

Christina nodded and turned toward the door. As she stepped out of the office, cool relief washed over her.

Mrs. Hayes quickly gathered a few pamphlets, emergency contacts, shelter options, domestic abuse therapy groups, and more. Organized them neatly and placed them into a manila folder, and labeled it Mrs Long. She then carefully tucked it away into Caleb's backpack while Caleb's Kindergarten class was coming in from recess. She would meet with Christina at dismissal and talk to her over some of the papers within Caleb's bag.

Meanwhile, across town Christina worked her shift as usual—robotically stripping beds of comforters and sheets, scrubbing toilets, vacuuming the floors of each room. Though she was forcing herself to stay present in her work her mind was reeling. Repeating every part of her plan over and over in her head.

Later in the day

Ms. Carter’s expression was tight, her brows pinched as she motioned for Mrs. Reynolds and

Mrs. Hayes to step closer after they exited the leadership meeting.

“I wanted to mention a potential red flag before dismissal,” she said, voice low but urgent. “Mr.

Long already picked up Caleb.”

Mrs. Hayes' face shifted, painted with panic.

Ms. Carter continued, reassured that she was right to share, but concerned at the weight of what she just said. “He came in about twenty minutes ago, signed him out. I didn't think much of it at first since he's listed as a guardian, but then I remembered this morning with Mrs. Long.”

Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs Hayes exchanged a look with each other, leaving an awkward silence.

“Was… was I not supposed to release Caleb?” Ms Carter asked in an unsure tone.

Mrs. Reynolds glanced at the clock, noticing that there were only minutes until dismissal. “We are going to have to tell Christina that Caleb has already been picked up. Ms. Carter, would you page Mr. Harmon and Coach Nelson to cover Mrs. Hayes and me for our dismissal roles?”

“Absolutely, I'm sorry if I did something wrong.”

“You did fine, Ms Carter. We wouldn't have the right to deny him pick up anyways.” Mrs. Reynolds said as she turned for the door. Moments later Christina rolled up in the car rider line, waiting for Caleb. Only instead Mrs. Hayes and Reynolds waved her over to a parking spot outside of the line.

“Mrs Long, I am deeply sorry to tell you—but Mr. Long picked Caleb up early about 25 minutes ago.”

“What!?” Why…” Christina said in shock as her breath gave out. She immediately put her car in reverse, pulled out of the spot, and drove past the other parents. Once again, she dug through her purse to find her cell. She pulls it out, still no texts, no calls.

She opens her recent calls and dials Mike's number. The tone rings a few times, and then Mike answers.

“Already? Jesus, can you wait a damn minute before losing your mind? What the hell do you want!?” he scowls.

“Where's Caleb? I'm at his school to pick him up, and they told me that you already did. I was just curious—why?”

“I thought we could spend a little father-son time. Why is that a crime? You tell me all the damn time how you want me to pay more attention to the boy.”

“Uh.. You’re right, I did ask you to do that. Where are you now?”

“We're heading to the cages. Figured I'd teach my boy how to hit a ball.”

“Batting cages? Mike, he doesn’t like—” she cuts herself off. “Listen, I forgot to tell you that he's got a dentist's appointment today. They won't reimburse us if we are late or no show.”

Mike scoffs.”A dentist appointment?”

“Yes. Please. Just bring him home so I can take him.”

“You always pull this shit last minute. How am I supposed to know stuff if you don't tell me or write it down somewhere? I swear—if we lose money because you can't keep this household

straight—you're really not going to be happy.”

Christina exhales, gripping the wheel with incredible intensity. “I'll see you at home. Thank you!”

Mike hangs up and turns around. Moments later, he pulls into their driveway. Caleb bolts out of the car and into the house, leaving his poorly zipped backpack. Mike reaches back in the back seat to grab the baseball bat and Caleb's backpack—the weight of the bag unzips further as he carries it in.

“Don't take your shoes off. You and your mother are going somewhere in a minute. You can go play with your toys for now,” he called out to Caleb as he set the bag on the counter. He noticed a manila folder. These are often being report cards he decides to pull it out.

Christina opens the door and walks into the living room to see Mike opening the folder and sliding out several pamphlets into his lap, along with a hotel card key.

The expression of curiosity melts from Mike's face as he pieces together the information in his lap. Christina froze—again.

A guttural growl emanates from Mike as he lunges towards Christina, pamphlets and papers falling on the floor scattering like leaves. She dodges and runs past him into the living room. As she's almost within reach of Caleb, Mike grabs at her ankle like a vise grip and yanks her to the ground. Pulling at her clothes, ripping her shirt as she tries to crawl to Caleb.

Mike pulls himself on top of Christina and holds down each limb. He leans into her throat, intent on suffocating her. He stares into her eyes as they begin to lose focus, his face a mask of red fury, veins bulging with the force he's exerting. Her limbs flail, grasping desperately, trying to dislodge his weight. The world narrows to the crushing pressure on her windpipe, the fading light, Mike's monstrous face looming above.

Then, a sudden, sickening CRACK echoes in the room.

Mike’s body goes rigid for a split second, his grip instantly releasing as he collapses heavily to the side.

Gasping for air, her throat raw and burning, Christina’s vision began to come back into focus. She sees Caleb standing there, small hands trembling as they hold the baseball bat, his face pale and in shock, tears frozen on his chin.

With a strangled cry, Christina pulls Caleb into her arms, and he drops the bat. She holds him close and they cry together. While holding Caleb, Christina reaches her hand, shaking, for her phone lying on the floor. She dials 911.

“He… he attacked us… Please help.”

“Okay, ma'am, I understand you need the police’s assistance. Can I get your location? I'll have help dispatched right away.”