But she was trying.
That’s why I did all I could to keep them together. They weren’t eating out at fancy restaurants, but they were fed. Weren’t thriving, but not cold or injured or abused.
They were loved, just struggling.
They were getting bytogether.
And now they’re not.
Today, I went to do a wellness check and the door creaked open like it hadn’t been locked in days. The kids were in the living room, curled up together on the couch, eating crackers straight from a box because it was the only thing left.
The cabinets and fridge were empty. The power was off.
And Tessa… beautiful, brave Tessa, ran into my arms and sobbed against my chest, all her prickly walls and protective instincts drained dry. I did all I could to soothe her, and when she could finally breathe again, she admitted hadn’t seen her mom in almost a week.
I stayed calm and professional and kind the whole way through. I didn't break. Not even when the smallest one, the six-year-old, Morgan, asked me if I knew when Mommy was coming back.
And then I called the cops, because I had to.
By the time the cruiser pulled up, all three kids were crying, clinging to each other like they already knew what was coming. Tessa begged me not to let them go. She held onto her brother and sister so tight I thought her arms might snap.
I told her I was sorry, because what else can you say?
They ignored me, too busy screaming while strapped into an SUV by another social worker. Strapped into a system I know too well. One that chews up kids like them and spits them out in pieces.
Just like me.
When I climbed into my car, it was with my finger hovering over Abby’s number and my car pointed toward home—my home.
I don’t remember driving to Kade’s, or if I ever called my best friend.
I just remember Dean’s tiny voice asking if his mom had sent me to get them. I remember Morgan asking if I brought more groceries. I remember Tessa’s eyes, broken and resigned.
And now…
Now I can’tbreathe.
A sob punches its way out of my chest again, sharper this time.
In the distance, a door creaks and then boots are thudding across the wood floor, picking up speed as they near.
“Freckles—hey—hey, baby,” Kade says, crouching down in front of me, voice tight with panic. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you sick? Talk to me—please, Georgia, what happened?”
I can’t.
I just shake my head, shoulders jerking as I try to swallow the sound that won’t stay down.
His hands hover for a second, then land on my face, warm and steady. One brushes back my hair gently, thumb skimming along my cheek where tears have already soaked in.
He drops to his knees fully, sitting back on his heels, like he’s trying to get smaller for me. Trying to make room for me to fall apart.
“C’mere,” he says softly, and I fold, unable to hold myself up anymore.
I fall forward, into his chest, into his arms, intohim, and he catches me like he always does.
His arms wrap tight around me, one hand cradling the back of my head as he pulls me close. He doesn’t rush me for answers,just rocks me gently, grounding me with his body and scent and soft coos tobreathe.
“I’ve got you, baby,” he murmurs. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you.”
