My 6-year-old nephew dragged his broken leg across seven blocks with his starving little sister clinging to his shirt, w

After a meal of warm tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches—which the children devoured as if they hadn't eaten in days—Peter tucked them into his guest bedroom. He left the door cracked open and the hallway light on, knowing the dark was currently their greatest enemy.

Once he was certain they were asleep, their chests rising and falling in steady rhythms, Peter walked into the kitchen and picked up his phone. He dialed a number he knew by heart.

"Mark," Peter said when his old college friend answered. Mark was a family law attorney, and one of the best in the county. "I need your help. It's an emergency."

"Peter? It's late. What's going on?"

"It's Diane. Drew and Lily are at my house. They're battered, starved, and she locked them in her basement for two days. Drew had to break them out." Peter kept his voice low, but the steel in his tone was unmistakable. "I'm not giving them back. I don't care what the legal hurdles are. I need to know the exact steps to take right now to get emergency custody and keep her away from them."

Mark sighed heavily on the other end of the line, the rustling of papers audible. "First thing tomorrow, we file for an emergency ex parte order. But Peter, you need a paper trail. You need to call Child Protective Services tonight and report the abuse. They need to document the kids' condition immediately."

"I'll do it right now," Peter said.

"Be prepared," Mark warned. "Diane is their biological mother. She's going to fight this, and it’s going to get ugly."