So, let me ask where is Jacob hurt? Are there any bruises? Any scratches? Any signs that he was attacked? My question made them all go silent. I walked closer to Dad, looking straight at Jacob, who was being held in his arms. The three-year-old looked at me with wide eyes, showing no fear or pain at all.
There wasn’t a single wound on the boy. No bruises, no scratches, nothing at all. I pointed at Jacob, my voice ringing out in the silent room. Look, Jacob doesn’t have any injuries. If Jackson attacked him with a screwdriver, why isn’t there a single mark on him? After that question, Aiden was about to open his mouth to argue back, but I didn’t give him the chance.
I continued, my voice full of challenge. And look at how Jacob looks at Jackson. Is he scared of Jackson? If Jackson just attacked him, why is he looking at Jackson without any fear in his eyes? Everyone in the room fell silent. They couldn’t argue with what I said because it was the obvious truth right in front of their eyes.
At this point, Aiden kept turning to look at the two police officers. His voice rushed, “Arest him. Take him to the station for questioning.” Both police officers shook their heads and refused to comply. One of them said to Aiden, “Sir, we don’t have grounds to arrest the child.” Aiden angrily yelled, “You’re cops and you can’t do anything.
I called you here to handle this.” The other officer shook his head and said, “In this case, we’re recording this as a family misunderstanding and recommend you all work it out among yourselves.” After almost 10 minutes of tense arguing, the atmosphere in the room became suffocating. Aiden’s face was red with rage, and he looked at me with eyes full of hatred.
My parents stood still like statues, not knowing what to say. As for me, even though the police had acknowledged this was a family misunderstanding, I still couldn’t calm my anger. They dared to hurt my son, and I will never forgive them for that. When the situation was at a deadlock with nobody backing down, I suddenly looked at my dad. He was still holding Jacob.
A thought suddenly popped into my head. an idea that could prove my son’s innocence beyond any doubt. I quickly stepped over to stand facing my dad. He looked at me wearily like he didn’t know what I was planning to do. I bent down to Jacob’s eye level, my voice gentle when I asked the boy, “Jacob, why were you crying earlier?” Jacob looked at me with the clear eyes of a child, then slowly replied, his voice still lisping.
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