TrishxTrix @trishxtrix - Tumblr Blog

The Bench Across the Street

AO3

Part 1 | Previous | Part 18 | Next

Summary: What if Abby is hurting and forcing Frank to take benzos to “control” his ADHD?

What if few hours after the argument, Frank is brought to the ED on a brink of an overdose and some unexplainable injuries.

TW: Abuse, Overdose, Suicide Attempt

———————————————————

Ms. Hadley

It had all happened so fast.

One moment, Tanner was in the middle of quiet reading time—his small frame curled near the edge of the classroom rug, chewing on the end of his pencil, eyes half-lidded in that sleepy-but-focused way he always got after lunch. The next, he was swaying. Then listing. Then collapsing silently like a puppet whose string had been clipped.

I was at his side before anyone else even noticed. His skin was clammy. His pulse was barely there.

I called 911.

Riding in the ambulance, I sat with his hand in mind, talking softly to keep myself from unraveling,

The paramedics worked fast, speaking in clipped, precise terms I didn’t fully understand, Heart rate low. BP unstable. Oxygenation dropping.

Tanner had been off lately—more tired than usual, slower to respond, clumsy with motor tasks. We thought it was stress. Maybe growth fatigue. His mom said he was just going through a rough patch.

Nothing prepared me for this.

By the time we arrived at PTMC, trauma teams were already in motion. The doors to the ambulance bay banged open, and the gurney shot through with Tanner’s small form strapped down, an oxygen mask hiding most of his face.

Frank Langdon appeared out of nowhere.

One second he wasn’t there, the next he was pushing through staff, gloves already snapped on, eyes wide and wild. I’d never seen a person move with that kind of desperation. He didn’t hesitate—just reached for Tanner, touched his wrist like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

“Langdon!” someone called—an older doctor, voice sharp.

Frank didn’t move.

Didn’t even look u[ until the man blocked him. “You know you can’t.”

Frank’s jaw worked like he was swallowing something back. He looked like he was drowning on dry land. Then, slowly, he pulled the gloves off. Stepped away.

I couldn’t look away.

Because that wasn’t the Frank Langdon I’d been told about.

Abby had described someone absent. Someone too busy. Too tired. Someone who didn;t come to conferences unless she made him. Who never asked questions. Who left it all to her.

But the man I saw today—he was breaking.

Breaking over a little boy who couldn’t even open his eyes.

He hovered outside the trauma bay like gravity was working differently on him. His entire body looked like it wanted to move but couldn’t. When the attending—Dr. Shah, I think—took over, issuing orders with calm precision, Frank didn’t get in the way. He didn’t argue.

He just…collapsed inward.

The worst moment came when he pulled out his phone.

For a second, I thought maybe he was calling Abby.

But then I heard him whisper, “Mia.”

His voice cracked like ice under pressure. “It’s tanner. Collapse. Bradycardic. Hypotensive. I—Mia, please.”

Whoever Mia was, she didn’t even pause.

“I’m coming,” I heard faintly, right before Frank dropped his hand, staring ahead like nothing else existed.

He didn’t even think of calling Abby first.

And that said more than any school record or anecdote ever could.

I sat down hard on the nearest bench, heart in my throat.

Because something was deeply wrong here.

And for the first time, I realized just how much we’d missed by believing the loudest voice in the room.

Frank Langdon wasn’t absent.

He was shattered.

~~~~~~~

Jack

Shift began the same way it always does—with the leftover static of day shift hanging in the corners of the ED like smoke that won’t clear. The floors already had their tell-tale scuff. Rubber soles, gurney wheels, stress-soaked tread marks etched into linoleum. The scent of antiseptic always tried to assert dominance, but I could catch the undercurrents—sweat, old blood, the breathless heat of panic. War and emergency medicine carry the same ghosts. You learn to greet them.

I found Robby hunched over at the nurses’ station. He clutched the tablet like it might start bleeding if he let go. His posture was wrong. Rigid. But in the way someone gets when they’re trying too hard to appear calm. His eyes didn’t quite meet mine.

“The board’s been light for the last two hours,” Robby said, flipping through the digital chart like he had something to prove to himself. “Vitals are stable across the bay. Two psych evals waiting on beds. Trauma’s been calm. But—”

His voice caught, just slightly. The word hung there for a tense moment.

“But keep an eye on Langdon’s kid, Tanner, in peds. Labs are pending.”

I blinked once. “Tanner’s here?”

He nodded, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

I didn’t ask anything else. Robby’s face already told me more than he intended to give. Guilt. The bitter kind. The kind that comes too late to stop the bleeding.

“He stable?” I ask.

“As of an hour ago. Shah’s lead. Mia’s on too.” He exhaled like it burned. “I should’ve seen it.”

I stared at him for a second longer. “Go home. Rest. You need it, brother.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. He turned and left with the walk of a man being followed by something he couldn’t outrun.

~~~~~~~

The shift marched forward, just like always. Admissions, consults, code calls, normal noise. But beneath it was a hum—like the room knew something that people didn’t.

Peds pulled gravity. Conversations paused near its door. Glances hung longer. Like everyone was waiting for something to drop.

Almost two hours into the shift, the notification came through. DV flag on Tanner’s file. That made things clearer. Darker. The kind of shadow that didn’t just stretch—it multiplied.

I caught sight of Sha by the nurses’ station, staring at Tanner’s chart like he was trying to will the numbers to rearrange themselves into something less damning.

I walked up slowly, leaned my elbow on the counter.

“Shah,” I greeted, voice low. “Any updates on Tanner?”

He looked up, eyes shadowed with something heavier than exhaustion. “Stable enough,” he sighed. “But the preliminary tox results are concerning.”

I raised an eyebrow. “How concerning?”

“Elevated B6, metaxalone in the system. It’s not a one-off. This wasn’t a single bad dose. It’s been going on.”

I felt something cold settle at the base of my spine. “CPS?”

He nodded. “Sooner rather than later. This kind of report, we’re mandated.”

I shifted my weight slightly, glanced towards the peds room. “Do you think Frank is handling this okay?”

Shah exhaled through his nose. “He’s carrying a heavy load. I can see it. Every word, every breath—he’s holding something back. I don’t think he knows how to stop carrying it.”

“Does he know the extent yet?”

“Not yet. We’re waiting on final confirmation, but…” he trailed off, the implication clear. “He’ll need support—now more than ever.”

I gave a small nod. “We’ll be ready.”

~~~~~~~

Frank was standing outside the peds room, still as a ghost. Hands flexing. Not moving. Just watching the door like his son might vanish the moment he blinked.

I’ve learned to read people better than monitors. War teaches that. So does medicine. You catch the tremble in a hand, the pause in a breath, the silence between words. That’s where the truth lives.

Frank Langdon was splintering.

Not shattered. Not yet. But breaking where no one could see.

I watched him for a moment longer before I spoke. “Langdon.”

He blinked. Took a second too long to focus.

“You okay?”

He nodded. Automatic. Too fast.

“You’ve been standing there for a while.”

“I don’t want to go in.”

“Then don’t,” I said. “But don’t stand here like you’re vanishing. You’re his father, not a ghost.”

His shoulders slumped like that truth gave him permission to exhale.

I left him there and stepped into the room. Abby smiled when she saw me. Tight. Polished.

“Jack,” she greeted. Voice all honey.

“Abby.” I didn’t sit.

“I appreciate everyone’s concern. It’s been…a difficult day.”

“I imagine.”

She tilted her head. “Is there something I can help with?”

“Just a few questions. About Frank?”

Her face barely shifted, but her eyes narrowed.

“I’ve known him a long time,” I said. “Served before this. Watched people break. I know what pushes them.”

“Frank’s been under pressure,” she said. “I’ve supported him through everything.”

“You think he’s a danger?”

Her pause was telling.

“I think he’s unwell. And the people around him—some—might be encouraging that.”

There it was. A careful dig.

I didn’t flinch. Just filed it away.

Because she wasn’t defending herself.

She was playing to win.

When I stepped back out, Frank was still there. I stopped beside him.

“She’s not what she pretends to be,” I said.

He nodded. No surprise in his eyes.

~~~~~~~

At 21:30, Deacon Krueger arrived. CPS. Looked like a man with orders and no room for hesitation. Mia met him before he got to the nurses’ station. Whatever she said, it was enough. He nodded once, followed her.

I found Bridget at the med station.

“How’s Tanner?”

“Still unconscious. Stable. Monitored every 30 minutes. But something’s off about the way Abby hover. It’s like she’s more worried about being seen worrying than actually worrying.”

“Really?”

She frowned slightly. “She’s like playing a part but also watching like it’s her stage.”

Didn’t need more. I made another loop. Checked monitors. Pretended like any of it mattered more than the feeling in my gut.

~~~~~~~

At 22:09, I walked into the break room and found Mia at the counter, half-bent over a chart. Her sleeves rolled up. Her stethoscope hung like a weight.

“He’s hanging on,” she said without looking up.

I stepped beside her. “Feels like this whole place is holding its breath.”

She handed me a printout.

“Final tox?”

She nodded.

I scanned. “Sustained B6. Acute metaxalone.”

“Not an accident. Not a one-time event.”

“They now?”

“Deacon’s with Frank. Abby is waiting her turn in peds.”

“You?”

Mia gave me a dry smile. “Still standing.”

I just squeezed her shoulder and stepped out.

~~~~~~~

After Frank’s interview with Deacon, I caught him lingering by the vending machines near the staff hallway. He looked worse than before—slumped, like something inside him had cracked open and wouldn’t close again. There was a shadow behind his eyes that hadn’t been there earlier. Not despair. Something more exhausted.

“You want to sit?” I asked, motioning to the empty chairs along the wall.

He followed without a word.

“You held up,” I said.

“I don’t feel like I did.”

“That’s how it always feels. But you stayed. That’s what matters.”

He swallowed hard. “I didn’t know what she was doing. The supplements…she just said they were multivitamins.”

“She kept you in the dark on purpose.”

He looked at me then, eyes bloodshot. “What if it’s too late?”

“It’s not,” I leaned in, voice steady. “Tanner’s alive. He’s got people in his corner. So do you.”

Frank nodded slowly. “Mia’s on shift”

“She’s got your six,” I said. “We all do. One foot in front of the other, Langdon. That’s all we ask.”

A faint breath escaped him, something too quiet to be called relief—but not despair either.

That was enough.

For now.

~~~~~~~

Deacon

I entered through the main hospital entrance, not the ambulance bay, or ER entrance. Years of walking into chaos taught me to take the quieter door. But even there, I could feel it—tension bleeding from the walls, humming through the air like static.

Mia Castellano stood near the elevators, hoodie zipped, stethoscope hanging from her neck. Still and sharp, like the blade of a scalpel. She didn’t waste time with small talk. Just handed me an official file.

“Copy of Frank Langdon’s official DV report,” she murmured, her voice low enough to slip beneath the hospital’s hum. “And this—” she tapped the unmarked file in her hand, fingers deliberate—“isn’t in the official record. Just so you can see how bad it gets.”

I took the file, the weight of it sinking into my hand. “You trust me with this?”

She didn’t flinch. Her gaze held steady, sharp as ever. “I saved your life, didn’t I?”

And she had.

Two years ago, a backroom vet clinic moonlighting as an emergency fix-it shop. I’d been shot, bleeding out after pulling a kid from the wrong house during a sting gone sideways. No EMS. No hope. Mia was already there—sleeves rolled up, gloves snapped on, barking orders like she owned the place.

She didn’t ask questions. Didn’t care who I worked for or why I’d ended up on her table. Just went to work, stitching and clamping, keeping me breathing when I had minutes left to spare. Twelve, to be exact. She did it in ten.

“You kept me alive.” I said, the memory sharp in my mind.

“I don’t like loose ends,” she replied, her tone flat, almost dismissing. Then softer, with the faintest edge of something human beneath the steel: “Now let’s cut one of yours.”

She handed the second folder. Heavier. Darker. I opened it just enough to glimpse the contents—evidence. Photos. Logs. Notations that painted a picture so stark and brutal it hit like a gut punch. I’d seen this before in my line of work. Too many times.

“Get familiar,” she said, her voice pulling me back. “Confirmatory tox screen’s due in thirty. Enter the peds room three minutes after we do.”

I nodded, tucking the files under my arm.

She turned without another word, walking away with the same unrelenting focus she’d had the day she pulled me back from the brink. No hesitation. No glance over her shoulder.

She didn’t look back.

~~~~~~~

I took a seat just off the nurses’ station, tucked beside the vending machines with a half-busted view of the trauma board. The files in my hands weighed more than its pages should.

Mia’s handwriting was still exact. Sharp edges. Blocky script. She wrote like someone who had once needed everything to be legible in the dark. Every note was dated. Cross-referenced. Annotated. Immaculate.

I flipped through photos. Swollen wrists. Bruises hidden beneath shirt collars. Emergency room timestamps that matched Mia’s personal logs. She had documented it all. Painstakingly. Thoroughly. There was a quiet rage in the way she had assembled the file. The kind of rage that only comes from helplessly watching someone suffer while the world looks away.

As I read, I caught her out of the corner of my eye.

Mia.

Gliding down the hallway in full command of a disaster only half-formed. She stopped to speak with a nurse. Checked a chart mid-stride. Called out instructions to fellow doctors with a clipped but calm authority. Not frantic. Not performative. Just fast and right. Watching her now was like watching someone walk through fire without flinching.

She spoke with a doctor briefly, exchanging quick words over a new scan. No notes needed. She trusted her memory. Trusted her instincts. There was a quiet economy in her motion—like she’d calculated the weight of every step.

I remembered the Mia who pressed her hand against my side to keep me whole, stitching me up with the steadiness of someone who had no time for failure, her words sharp and cutting as she dismissed a man offering her a cigarette. That Mia was a blade—sharp, deliberate, and unflinching. This Mia, though, was a quiet current beneath still water, all restraint and unshaken resolve.

No wonder Frank trusted her.

~~~~~~~

Frank Langdon looked like a man holding his breath at the edge of a cliff, holding his breath and waiting for the wind to push him over. He slouched in a chair too small for the weight he carried, his hands clasped so tight they might snap. Beside him, Cynthia sat calm and watchful, her focus soft but unwavering, like she was bracing for the moment something broke.

I slid into the chair across from Frank and opened the folder in my lap. The questions were familiar, as was the tension that hung in the air between us. But the file felt heavier now, knowing what Mia had shown me.

“Can you confirm your full name, date of birth, and your relationship to the child?”

He rasped out the answers, his voice rough, as though the words were scraping their way out of his throat.

“Who is Tanner’s primary caregiver day to day?”

“Abby,” he said, barely above a whisper. “His mother. My wife. She’s with him more. I work nights. Doubles, mostly.”

His shoulders sank lower as he spoke, hunching under the weight of his own words. He wasn’t deflecting or dodging the question. He was bracing himself, preparing to be disbelieved.

“And what do you know about any medications, supplements, or substances Tanner was being given?”

He hesitated. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, I thought he might not answer.

“She said it was just multivitamins,” he murmured finally. “Every time I asked more, she got defensive. Said I was undermining her parenting.”

I thought of Mia’s descriptions, of the sharp, cutting edge Abby wielded when challenged. His words matched the notes.

“And the Metaxalone?”

His head shook before the words came. “I had no idea. I swear. I would never…” his voice cracked and his lips pressed together as if he could physically stop the tremor building in his chest. His eyes glistened, but the tears didn’t fall. Not yet.

I didn’t press him. Just waited. Silence had a way of drawing truths out of people when words couldn’t.

“Did you ever administer anything to Tanner yourself?”

“No,” his voice cracked again, the word raw. “Never. I don’t even know what he gets in his lunch bags.”

I glanced at Cynthia. She gave me the faintest nod. She saw it too. This man wasn’t lying. He was drowning.

“Frank,” I said carefully, my voice low, “do you have any reason to believe Abby was harming Tanner intentionally?”

His hesitation was telling. He didn’t look at me. He looked at his hands, at the floor, at anywhere but my eyes.

“I don’t want to believe it,” he said slowly. “ But she threatened…”

“What did she threaten?” I pushed, though I already knew the answer.

“She said…if I stopped taking the benzos she was giving me, the kids would end up in the ER.” His voice was hollow now, as if the words had drained him. “Like it was a promise,” he added quietly.

Mia’s hand slid into his, steady and sure. Her touch wasn’t soft—it wasn’t meant to comfort. It was meant to anchor him. And for a moment, his spine straightened, like he could feel that someone, somewhere, still saw him.

“Have you noticed any changes in Tanner’s behavior over the past few weeks?”

Frank nodded slowly, the motion weighted with regret. “He was clumsy. Tired. Said his legs felt heavy.” His voice cracked again as the tears finally broke through. “But I thought…I thought it was just growing. School stress. I didn’t want to see it.”

“You’ve been under duress yourself,” Cynthia said gently. “That’s not failure. That’s survival.”

He let out a broken laugh, shaking his head. “It feels like failure.”

Mia didn’t flinch. She just tightened her grip on his hand, her steady presence holding him together in a way words couldn’t.

“Frank,” I said quietly. “I have to ask this clearly. Do you feel Tanner is safe in Abby’s care?”

The room went quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that sharpens every breath, every heartbeat, until it feels like the edges of the world are closing in.

Frank’s gaze dropped again, and this time, he didn’t look up. “No,” he whispered. “Not anymore.”

Mia’s hand slipped away from his. She shifted beside him, stiff and restless, Like she’d stayed too long in one place.

“I’ve been gone too long,” she said, her voice tight. “I’m still on shift. ” she paused, hesitating for just a moment before her voice softened to almost a whisper. “But I’ll be nearby. I’ll come back.”

Frank nodded, his head dipping like it was all he had left in him.

She hesitated, then touched his shoulder lightly as she passed. “I believe you,” she said. “And I’m not the only one.”

And then she was gone.

I turned back to Frank, watching as the weight of it all finally pulled him inward. His hands unclasped, falling limp to his lap, and the tears came freely now, carving silent paths down his face. I slid a box of tissues across the table, not saying anything, just letting him take what he needed.

Finally, I spoke. “We’ll take it one step at a time,” I said quietly. “And you don’t have to do it alone.”

He nodded, no words left, just tears.

And as I sat there, watching him unravel, I thought about the Mia Castellano— the one I’d met in that backroom clinic. The Mia who had been all sharp edges and survival, covered in someone else’s blood, her eyes like honed razors. But the Mia now—this Mia—was different. Still sharp, but channeled. A clean coat, a tight smile, an ER doc with a past only a handful of people would ever understand.

She hadn’t called me because it was protocol. She called me because she knew this wasn’t going to be easy. That it would be messy. That it would take someone who could see through the cracks, past the lies and the noise, to the truth.

And as I looked at Frank Langdon, breaking apart in front of me, I understood why she called me.

Because this man had already survived too much silence.

And now, it was time for someone to listen.

~~~~~~~

Abby Langdon sat across from me with her legs crossed and her posture impeccable, hands folded on the table as though we were here to negotiate a mortgage, not a child’s welfare. She looked the part—concerned mother, elegant wife. But there was something brittle about the polish. Something practiced.

“Mrs. Langdon,” I said, flipping open a fresh page in my notes. “Thank you for speaking with me. This interview is standard when a child presents with substances in their system, especially controlled ones. Do you understand?”

She nodded with a small, composed smile. “Of course. I want to help however I can.”

I didn’t smile back. “Can you confirm your full name, date of birth, and your relationship to the child?”

She did, fluidly, tone even.

“How would you describe your role in Tanner’s daily care?”

“I’m the primary caregiver,” she said. “Frank works full-time—mostly nights. I handle meals, school, bedtime. Everything day to day.”

“And have you administered any medication, vitamins, or supplements to Tanner recently?”

She tilted her head just slightly. “Only children’s multivitamins. Over the counter. Nothing that would account for this…mix-up.”

“Was your husband aware of the supplements?”

“I told him.” she said it lightly, too lightly. “But Frank's been…distracted lately. He’s not very present at home.”

I didn't write that part down. Just watched her.

“Can you think of any way Tanner could have come in contact with a muscle relaxant like Metaxalone?”

Her expression froze for a half-second. Then resent. “Of course not. We don’t even have anything like that in the house. I would never give my child anything unsafe.”

“Do you know of anyone who might have had access to Tanner unsupervised?”

“Well…” she sighed. “Frank’s been erratic. He was hospitalized recently. We were all worried about him.”

There it was.

“So you’re suggesting that your husband may have given something to Tanner?”

“Oh, no.” she held up her hands like a shield. “I’m not saying that. I’m just saying…he’s been struggling, And maybe he didn’t notice something. Or maybe someone at the school made a mistake. Children get into things. You know how it is.”

I didn’t answer. Just let the silence fill the room. Abby adjusted her blouse like the quiet made her itch.

“I’ve done everything I can for this family,” she added, voice tight now. “I’ve supported Frank through his breakdowns. Through his absences. It’s not easy being the only adult in the room.”

I stared at her, then glanced at the file beside me. Photos. Notations. Audio transcripts.

The only adult in the room?

“Do you know why we asked you and your husband to be interviewed separately tonight?” I asked

Her eyes flicked toward the door. Calculating.

“To prevent confusion,” she answered.

“To maintain integrity of information,” I corrected. “Because there are concerns. Because your son presented with signs of chronic exposure to excessive pyridoxine and a dangerous dose of Metaxalone.”

She smiled. But it didn’t touch her eyes.

“I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding.”

“That’s why we investigate.”

She leaned forward just slightly, voice sweet. “I’m just worried this whole situation could harm Frank’s recovery. He’s…fragile. Unstable. I don’t want to make things harder for him.”

A quiet threat, wrapped in concern.

I glanced back at my notes. Then lifted my pen again.

“And where is your daughter, Millie, at this moment?”

Abby blinked at the change in direction. “With a sitter. A trusted friend.”

“Can you provide their name and contact information?”

“Of course,” she said, a beat too quickly. “But I don't see what Millie has to do with this. She’s fine. Healthy.”

“I ask about all children in the home,” I replied, “It’s standard. Just like this interview.”

She nodded again, slower this time, as if recalculating her next step.

I closed the folder. “Thank you, Mrs. Langdon. We’ll be in touch for any follow-up.”

She stood with practiced ease, as though the world was her stage and she’d just delivered the performance of a lifetime. But I recognized the type—had faced them under the harsh glare of interrogation lights, watched them turn cold rooms into theaters of manipulation. I’d seen them in custody battles, where every word was a weapon, and in depositions, spinning threads of half-truths laces with perfectly timed tears.

Abby Langdon wouldn’t break. Breaking wasn’t in her design. She didn’t fight the current—she bent it, steering it in her direction with the precision of someone who knew how to make losing look like winning. She didn’t crack under pressure. She shifted under it.

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

TrishxTrix