“You’re using this with other children?”
“Not the food system.”
“What system?”
“The structure framework.”
“How much are they paying?”
“Nothing.”
“Who knows?”
“A few parents.”
“What parents?”
“School.”
His eyes widened.
“Our school?”
She said nothing.
Damon sat.
This was larger than he thought.
“How long?”
“Eight weeks.”
“Does the school know?”
“Not officially.”
“What does that mean?”
“A parent group.”
Damon rubbed both hands across his face.
“Do they know your doctorate consultant isn’t a child psychologist?”
“She never claimed to be.”
“Do they know you’re planning a business?”
Renee looked away.
“No.”
“Do they know our children are being used as the success example?”
Silence.
Damon’s voice lowered.
“Are they?”
Renee whispered:
“Yes.”
He stood and walked away from the table.
Not because he feared what he would do.
Because sitting felt impossible.
On the refrigerator door, beneath family photographs, he noticed a printed mock-up he had somehow never really seen.
A photograph of the four of them.
Damon.
Renee.
Noah.
Ava.
Everyone smiling.
Across the bottom:
THE BROOKS RESET
CALMER KIDS. STRONGER FAMILIES. SEVEN WEEKS TO A HOME THAT WORKS.
He pulled it down.
“When was this made?”
Renee said nothing.
“Renee.”
“Last month.”
“My face is on it.”
“It’s a mock-up.”
“Did I approve it?”
“No.”
“The kids?”
“They’re children.”
Damon stared.
“Exactly.”
The next morning began at a pediatrician’s office.
Not because Ava’s cheek required emergency treatment.
Because Damon wanted both children checked.
He did not trust his own ability to distinguish fear from catastrophe.
Dr. Lena Marshall had treated Noah and Ava since infancy.
She examined them.
Asked questions separately.
Weighed them.
Reviewed growth charts.
Then met with Damon.
Renee was not there.
She had spent the night at a hotel after Denise refused to leave the children alone in the house with her.
Damon had not ordered her out.
He asked for one night of space.
Renee agreed.
Dr. Marshall closed the consultation-room door.
“Neither child appears acutely medically compromised.”
Damon released a breath he did not realize he had been holding.
Then felt guilty for relief.
She continued.
“That does not mean the eating environment is acceptable.”
“I know.”
“Noah has lost a small amount of weight since December.”
Damon’s face changed.
“How much?”
“Not enough for me to diagnose anything from the number alone.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I asked Renee.”
His jaw tightened.
“What did she say?”
“That he’d started soccer conditioning.”
Noah did not play soccer.
He had stopped two years earlier.
Damon closed his eyes.
“Ava?”
“Her growth is within range.”
“Okay.”
“But she told my nurse she sometimes hides food.”
He looked up.
“Where?”
“In her room.”
His stomach turned.