Chapter 14 - Allies in White
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I rushed over to the fence, trying to wipe the tears from my face. "Mr. Pendelton, I'm sorry, I can't talk right now—"
"I heard the shouting from my porch, Sarah," Mr. Pendelton said, his voice deep and compassionate. He adjusted his thick glasses, looking around cautiously. "I've been watching what's been happening over there for months. That man is a tyrant. He keeps her isolated. I've heard him screaming at her late at night when he thinks no one is listening."
"He's hurting her, Mr. Pendelton," I choked out. "He physically grabbed her. He has her bruises covered up, and he took all her money."
Mr. Pendelton set a comforting hand on the fence post. "I may be eighty years old, Sarah, but my mind is sharp, and I have eyes. You can't take him on alone. He has judges and police captains in his pocket. You need evidence, and you need a team."
"I don't even know where to start," I confessed.
"Start with your work," Mr. Pendelton advised gently. "Document those injuries. Get medical records. And while you do that, I'll start keeping a log from over here. Every visitor, every scream, every time he locks her out on that porch."
Thirty minutes later, I walked into the breakroom at St. Jude's Hospital. I was off-duty, but I couldn't go home. My charge nurse, Brenda, a formidable woman with thirty years of trauma experience, looked up from her paperwork and immediately knew something was wrong.
"Sarah? What happened?" Brenda asked, setting down her pen.
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I collapsed into a plastic chair and broke down, telling Brenda and Dr. Reynolds—our chief attending physician who was pouring coffee across the room—everything about Arthur, the financial trap, and the bruises on my mother's arm.
Dr. Reynolds set his mug down with a heavy thud. "That ends now, Sarah," he said, his voice brimming with professional authority. "Elder abuse and domestic violence are crimes we fight every single day in this ER. You aren't doing this alone. We're going to get your mother out."
