PART 2
The whole courtroom turned around.
Wayne Haller’s face went gray.
The little girl in the young woman’s arms saw me and pointed.
“Sticker lady!”
The judge asked the young woman to come forward. Her name was Jasmine Vela. She was twenty-six. She worked as a nursing assistant.
“Your Honor,” she said, “that man is Quinn’s biological father. He lost custody when she was one, after he put me in the hospital. He’s had a protective order against him for two years.”
She took a deep breath.
“On March 14th, he walked into Quinn’s in-home daycare, told the provider, Miss Corliss, that there was a family emergency, and took my daughter. Miss Corliss didn’t know about the order. I found out an hour later. The police issued an Amber Alert.”
She looked at me.
“But by the time the Amber Alert went out, the police already had his license plate. And a photo of his face. And a photo of my daughter in his back seat.”
“Because this woman stood in front of a door,” she said, “and asked my baby her name.”
I put my hand over my mouth.
The state troopers had stopped Wayne Haller on the interstate ninety minutes after he left the store. Heading for the Oklahoma border. With Quinn asleep in the back seat. No car seat.
He was charged with kidnapping and violating a protective order. He’d been released on bond while he waited for his criminal trial.
And while he waited, he’d sued me.
“To scare me into changing my statement,” I said quietly.
The judge looked at Wayne Haller for a long time.
Then she dismissed the lawsuit. With prejudice. Which my legal aid lawyer explained meant he could never file it again.
Then she referred the case to the prosecutor for review. Filing a lawsuit to intimidate a witness is a crime too.
Wayne Haller was convicted of kidnapping in December. Twelve years.
The store’s corporate office called me the week after the lawsuit was dismissed. A vice president. She apologized for twenty minutes.
They offered me my job back. With a raise. And they made a new rule for every store in the region. If a child says, “That’s not my parent,” the store calls the police. Every time. No matter what ID anyone shows.
Mr. Darby was transferred to a store in another state. I heard he took a training course on child safety. Good.
I went back to work on a Saturday.
At ten o’clock, the automatic doors opened.
A little girl in pink rain boots came running in ahead of her mother.
“Sticker lady!”
She held out her hand.
I gave her a smiley face. Then another one. Then the whole roll.
She stuck one on my vest, right over my name tag.
“Now you have one too,” she said.
THE END.
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Kindness isn’t always soft. Sometimes it’s an old woman who won’t step aside. If a child says “that’s not my parent,” believe them.
Would you have stood in front of that door? Tell us in the replies.
