Ten minutes later, Maya came out sobbing, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit. Devon followed, looking pale and terrified, his eyes darting between me and the officers.

“We found a bruise on Devon’s upper arm,” the investigator announced, closing his notebook. “And Maya exhibits clear signs of anxiety in your presence.”

“Devon plays competitive soccer!” I shouted, panic rising in my throat. “He’s a midfielder. He gets bruised every week fighting for the ball. Ask his coach! And Maya is crying because strangers are interrogating her!”

They didn’t care about explanations. “We are removing the children immediately for their safety. They will be placed in emergency foster care pending the hearing.”

“No!” I lunged forward to grab Maya’s hand.

“Sir! Step back or you will be restrained!” The officer stepped between us, his chest bumping mine.