Chapter 6 - A Fragile Pawn
The supervised visitation room at the county family services center was painted in an institutional pale yellow, furnished with plastic chairs, battered wooden building blocks, and a two-way observation mirror.
"Mommy!" Maisie cried out, sprinting across the linoleum floor the moment the social worker opened the door.
Naomi dropped to her knees, catching the little girl in an embrace so fierce and desperate that Maisie let out a tiny gasp. Naomi buried her face in Maisie’s hair, breathing in the scent of baby shampoo, silently weeping into the cotton fabric of her daughter’s sweater.
"I missed you so much, baby," Naomi choked out, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her nose. "Mommy missed you every single minute."
The social worker, a stern woman holding a clipboard, sat in the corner, scribbling notes on a pad with an emotionless click of her pen.
Maisie pulled back slightly, her little brow furrowing with profound confusion. "Mommy, why do you live in this playroom now? Auntie Vanessa said you had to move into a locked house because you broke the rules."
Naomi felt a hot spike of bile rise in her throat. She glanced at the social worker, knowing that every word she uttered was being scrutinized.
"Mommy doesn't live here, sweetie," Naomi said, forcing her voice to remain steady and soothing. "This is just a place where we play on Saturdays while the judges finish their paperwork. But Mommy has our real house all ready for you. Your bed has the dinosaur sheets, and all your stuffed animals are waiting."
Maisie reached into the pocket of her corduroy overalls. Her fingers brushed against something hard and metallic. "Mommy... I found your computer key."
Naomi blinked, confused. "My what?"
Maisie pulled out the small black flash drive, its white label smudged with toddler fingerprints. "Under the big dresser in the guest room. It has your name."
Naomi stared at the object in Maisie’s palm. Her heart skipped a violent beat. That was the backup drive containing her entire professional portfolio, client contracts, and private communications that had mysteriously vanished from her home studio during the divorce proceedings six months ago.
How had it ended up under the dresser in Graham’s guest room—the room Vanessa used as her private dressing suite?
Before Naomi could take it, the social worker cleared her throat loudly. "Mrs. Vance, unauthorized physical exchanges of property during supervised visitation are strictly prohibited under section four of the visitation protocol."
"It's my own property!" Naomi protested, turning to the monitor. "My daughter found it!"
"Hand the item to me, please," the monitor instructed, standing up and holding out an open hand. "It will be logged with security and returned at the conclusion of the session if approved."
Naomi hesitated, her instinct screaming that giving the drive to the supervisor might mean losing it forever. But if she violated the protocol, her visitation rights would be suspended entirely.
She took the small drive from Maisie’s tiny hand and placed it into the supervisor’s palm. "Please make sure that is logged properly."
The monitor dropped it into an evidence envelope and sat back down without a word.
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Maisie looked up at her mother, sensing the tension. "Did I do something bad, Mommy?"
"No, my brave girl," Naomi whispered, pulling Maisie close and pressing a fierce kiss to the crown of her head. "You did something wonderful. You did something so, so brave."
