Excerpt from Darin Strauss's "More Than It Hurts You"

The police had arrived at 7:30am on a Monday.  Josh'd had his dress shirt open, a tie flapping, unknotted, like a scarf.  (Coffee made Josh sweat through his shirt.) The doorbell rang; Zack started clapping and laughing. Josh said, "Shh-hey, cool it, buddy," which in hindsight felt like the most excruciatingly mean thing he'd ever say to anyone.

In the doorway stood a policeman, a policewoman, and a different, terse woman from CPS. Somehow Josh would remember that string-puller Dr. Stokes as having been there, too, as if she were part of the group that shouldered into his house and asked, "Mr. Goldin, where's your son?"  (Josh still conflated "that bitch" and faceless CPS. He had, without realizing it, found religion-a bitter and imprecise personal religion of avoidance. Like all religions, Josh's condensed individuals to symbols and types, to devils and martyrs and angels, and offered the possibility of redemption).

What can you do when some female cop gets in your face with her arrogant nose? What can you do when the police have legal authority to kidnap your son?

I could've done more, Josh thought again and again. I could have.

Dori-walking from the kitchen-had a more immediate grasp of the situation.  Her eyes narrowed and she sucked in a breath; and then, as the CPS woman handed Josh a legal document, Dori ran full-speed into the kitchen.

Breathing hamster-quick, blinking like mad, Josh was trying to make sense of the blue sheet of paper (it said "Retrieval"; it said "suspicious evidence…") when he looked up toward a banging sound.  The policewoman was already inside, knocking at the bathroom door.  "Mrs. Goldin? Mrs. Goldin? This isn't going to help anything, Mrs. Goldin."