Chapter 1 - The Iron Pan
My wife was aggressively shoving handfuls of thick vanilla cake deep into our crying baby's mouth.
Her long fingernails dug so hard into his tiny jaw that dark crescent-shaped bruises were already swelling under his skin.
His face was turning a suffocating shade of purple.
Bright blood from a scraped gum stained the dry sponge pushed down his throat.
I did not hesitate for a fraction of a second.
I grabbed a heavy iron pan and slammed it into the side of her head.
I hooked my finger into his tiny throat to clear the blockage.
The piece of cake came loose into my palm.
My son still was not crying.
For one terrible second he made no sound at all.
Then he dragged in a thin and ragged breath.
I dropped the pan and pulled him against my chest while I called the emergency dispatcher.
I told the operator exactly what had happened.
I did not hide what I had done to my wife.
I did not soften what she had been doing to our baby.
My wife was on the floor claiming I was crazy and that she had only been trying to make him eat.
I kept watching my son's chest rise and fall.
The paramedics arrived and took him from me while a police officer separated us immediately.
I noticed the small camera above the breakfast nook blinking blue as they carried him outside.
At the hospital the pediatrician examined my son while a nurse monitored his breathing.
The doctor told me the obstruction was cleared and his breathing was stable.
My knees nearly gave out from sheer relief.
He turned the medical chart toward himself and lowered his voice.
He pointed to the heavy bruising around my son's jaw.
The doctor explained that some of those marks were several days old.
Then he pulled a toxicological printout from the back of the clipboard.
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He said the bruises were not the only thing they found hidden inside my son's body.
The blood test revealed lethal levels of a highly restricted adult sedative in his system.
