Child Breaks Into Police Station And Scream: “Please, Arrest My Father!”

The tension that followed was palpable. The policemen’s minds began to race, trying to fit the pieces of this dark puzzle together.

They imagined the worst possible scenarios. Had it been domestic violence or verbal abuse?

What could be so terrible as to make a child seek refuge in the police station and beg for his father’s arrest? The sergeant leaned over, noticing the sad look on the boy’s face as he spoke of his father.

Placing himself at the child’s eye level, he said: “We’ll help you, Henry.”

He said softly: “But I need you to try and tell us with more details. Alright?”

Henry slowly agreed, still fighting back the tears. “Come on. I’ll ask you a few questions and you just answer yes or no or no. Okay?” Paul suggested.

“Yeah.”

“Is your father home now? How did you get out of the house?” the man asked.

The boy replied, drying his tears: “Well, Daddy’s asleep. I unlocked the door and ran here.”

The sergeant and the policewoman concentrated on better understanding Henry’s confused narrative. The woman, with her motherly tone of voice, asked: “Is your father very aggressive, Henry? Does he hit you?”

The little boy’s answer took a while, as if he was thinking about what to say. “Yes, I’ve been hit a few times,” he exclaimed, his eyes wide and his breathing fast.

The officers’ reaction was almost instantaneous, and it only made the tension even worse. They asked where the boy lived.

Even though he didn’t know the address, the directions he gave were enough for the officers to know where it was. The boy and his father didn’t live too far, near the sewer, so it wasn’t difficult to identify the house.

When the sergeant asked about the boy’s mother, Henry said he hadn’t seen her for a long time. Everyone there was petrified when they heard these words.

“Dad said she went for a walk, but she never came back.”

As the situation became clearer and clearer, they were coming to the conclusion that it was some kind of family violence. It was also being very strange for a man to raise a boy without his mother and still say that she had gone for a walk.

The police station became a turmoil of activity. The officers moved frantically, coordinating their efforts and preparing to act.

A team was immediately deployed to Henry’s house, prepared to face the worst. The sergeant immediately got on the radio and communicated with the car that was on its way to Henry’s house.

“Attention unit, we three 5-R. Code for domestic violence report. Don’t let the man escape. Proceed with caution.”

Henry continued, his voice still shaky: “Every night he gets angry. He says he can’t take it anymore.”

The police exchanged worried glances, trying to decipher what the boy was really trying to communicate. The sergeant asked: “What is that your father can’t take anymore, kid?”

The boy’s eyes welled up with tears. “He slammed the fridge door. I got scared. He screamed, and I ran to my room.”

Those present had already understood everything. The poor little boy was the victim of a violent man who needed to be detained, and they all waited for the criminal to arrive at the police station.

The Raid on the Crumbling House

Meanwhile, at the boy’s home, his father, Roger, was resting deeply. The man was asleep in his room when he was woken up by the sound of police cars pulling up right in front of his house.

The place was deplorable. The police were horrified.

The wooden house was crumbling down, with a few spider webs here and there and with bushes growing all around the house that were scary just to look at. They didn’t even wait and burst through the front door, shouting: “Police! Come out with your hands up!”

Roger didn’t even have time to argue, and the policemen started handcuffing him and leading him to the car. “What’s going on? Why am I being arrested?” he shouted, confused.

“You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights? We’re taking you to the police station,” one of the policemen said.

At that moment, the man got scared. “What? The police station? No, no! I didn’t do anything! Let me go! I have a kid at home! Let me go!”

The officers restrained him again and said roughly: “Your son Henry is at the police station. You’re done, buddy. Come on, get in the car,” and pushed Roger into the vehicle.

At that moment, he was shocked. “What is my son doing there? Tell me!”

He began to panic. The policeman told him to keep quiet and drove off.

Roger felt his heart racing, and worry invaded his chest. Back at the police station, the roar of the car’s engine announced the team’s return from Henry’s house.

The atmosphere was charged with tension, with all the officers anxiously awaiting news of the situation. When the door opened, what they saw was not what they expected.

In fact, the disheveled figure of a thin man emerged from the car with pale skin, deep tired eyes, and muscles almost atrophied by his apparent state of malnutrition. His clothes were worn and dirty, revealing the harsh reality of the life he faced.

The man’s image contrasted brutally with the allegation that he could have inflicted physical harm on his son. “How could that man have the strength to hit the boy?” people asked quietly.

Roger, still handcuffed, looked confused and desperate. “What’s going on? Why am I here?” he kept asking, his voice shaking with uncertainty and fear.

When his eyes finally met Henry’s, a wave of relief and more concern washed over him. And the boy, seeing his father in this state, didn’t hesitate.

He did something that no one there was expecting. He ran across the room and threw himself into his father’s arms.

“Daddy!” the boy shouted, his eyes wet.

The hug that followed was full of emotion, and the man’s eyes also filled with tears. The scene in front of the officers was disconcerting.

“I thought he was abusing the boy,” said the sergeant, approaching Officer Mary incredulous.