Once Aston had given Ciarra’s legs a hug, the male CPS officer ushered the boy away from the conversation, distracting him with questions about his favorite things and asking Aston to show him a game he liked to play. The female CPS worker spoke for all of them. “The reason we’re here today, ma’am, is because we needed to investigate a report we received of your son being in an unsafe situation. Do you have any idea who might have done this to his face?” she asked, trying to give the impression that she was on Ciarra’s side instead of against her.

“No one did that to his face, he had an accident riding his bike the other day,” Ciarra said belligerently.

“Would you be able to show us that bike?” the social worker asked, knowing full well that Ciarra, who was too poor to afford a place to stay, would not be able to produce one.

“It was a friend’s bike so it’s at another house. What exactly are you accusing me of?” Ciarra asked. She tried to remind herself to stay calm and not get defensive, but she could not control the storm of her emotions.

“Ma’am, we know that a fall from a bike didn’t do that to his face. The more cooperative you are with us, the better this is going to go for you and Aston,” the woman said in a warning tone.

Ciarra refused to say more.

“Does Aston’s father maybe have a number that we could call to talk to him?” the woman asked.

“No. I don’t know where he is. He’s a musician and he’s on tour,” Ciarra said. The way the woman looked down at an envelope she was holding made Ciarra see red with panic. “This is a violation of my rights. It’s unlawful what you’re doing. You have to get a warrant or a court order to search my home,” she challenged.

The woman, who had already lost her patience with Ciarra, barked back at her, “A broken-down vehicle in a tent city does not qualify as a home, especially if that vehicle is not even yours. We can do this the hard way or we can do this the easy way. I’m going to ask you again to cooperate with us. Do you happen to have a phone number where we could reach Aston’s father?”

Ciarra could not control herself. She was locked in a fight to keep her own child. In defense of the terror and shame she felt, her blood boiled hot in response to the transgression. “You can’t prove anything. I love my son and I’m a very good mom!” she yelled.

Mike broke his silence in response to her argument. “Ciarra, I think you oughta cooperate with these folks.”