I did become frightened when separated from Dad.
But that fear had grown because my stepmother kept threatening to remove me from my home.
I did cry at school.
But much of that crying began after she told me I would be sent away.
I sometimes refused to leave my bedroom.
But only because it was the one place where I could look at my mother's photograph without someone telling me to put it away.
The coordinator asked for professional records supporting the claims.
My stepmother supplied a written summary prepared in her own words.
She also submitted a document purporting to show that my father had approved an evaluation.
The signature resembled his.
But he had never seen the document.
Over the next several days, more forms followed.
A placement application.
A medical-information release.
And a consent document related to temporary residential enrollment.
The program's staff requested additional verification, but my stepmother insisted that my father was traveling frequently and had delegated administrative matters to her.
She told them he was fully aware.
That was a lie.
My father later discovered that she had been using a copy of his signature taken from an old household document.
At eight years old, I knew nothing about signatures or legal authority.
I knew only that the brochure kept appearing.
And that my stepmother had begun treating the idea of my leaving as though it was already decided.
My brother discovered the first real evidence three nights before the incident.
He'd gone downstairs for a glass of water.
The house was quiet, and our father was still at the office.
As my brother passed the study, he heard our stepmother speaking on the phone.
The door was partly open.
He didn't intend to listen.
Then he heard my name.
He stopped.
Her voice was sharp.
"No, the father doesn't need another meeting. I've already handled his signature."
My brother stood motionless.
She continued.
"She's only eight. Once she's enrolled, she'll settle down."
There was a pause.
Then she laughed.
"By the time he starts asking questions, she'll already be there."
My brother felt sick.
He moved closer.
Then he heard something about a transport arrangement.
The caller apparently asked whether my father would be present.
Our stepmother replied, "He won't be. I'll make sure of it."
My brother backed away before she noticed him.
He returned upstairs.
Then he came into my room.
I was asleep.
He woke me gently.
"Hey."
I opened my eyes.
"What's wrong?"