The dispatcher was kind. She did not judge me for calling. She said an officer would be there within twelve minutes. She asked if I would stay in my vehicle until they arrived. I said yes. She asked me to make sure I did not confront the woman in any way. I said I would not. I sat in my SUV. The woman did not leave the 4Runner. She stayed on the phone, still crying, occasionally raising her voice — I could hear fragments of her sentences through the open window: "you can't do this," and

"I'm not the one who lied," and "your lawyer is a piece of —" the word she used I do not need to include. The boy in the car seat did not make a sound. He watched her cry. He watched her yell. He rubbed the welt on his face with his small hand. I watched him for eleven minutes. I will be thinking about that eleven minutes for the rest of my life. At 4:31 PM, a Dallas PD patrol car pulled into the lot. I got out of my SUV. I walked over to the officer. I pointed at the 4Runner. I said, quietly, "That one. Through the passenger window you can see a welt on the kid's face. I watched her hit him five minutes ago."