I Went to the Hospital to Care for My Son After He Broke His Leg – Then the Nurse Slipped Me a Note, ‘He’s Lying. Check the Camera at 3 a.m.’

“I don’t know who’s feeding you—”

“I watched the footage,” I said flatly.

His face drained.

“It was ten minutes,” he snapped. “You’re acting like I left him in traffic.”

“You told me you were there. You made him lie. That’s what you don’t get to minimize.”

The social worker appeared. “Sir, we need to speak with you.”

For the first time, Jasper looked unsure.

The weeks after were heavy.

Legal meetings.

Therapy appointments.

Kelly disappeared quickly once court papers started flying.

Howard started seeing a therapist. He needed someone to tell him it wasn’t his job to protect grown men from consequences.

And I stopped trying to be agreeable.

I used to swallow my instincts to avoid being labeled dramatic. Difficult. The “crazy ex.”

But being easy had never protected my son.

Being vigilant did.

A month later, we left his final cast check. He walked with a slight limp, but he was smiling again.

Halfway to the car, he stopped.