Rain drums against the roof in hard, rhythmic bursts. I glance out the tiny window over the sink just as lightning splits the sky.
I used to be scared of storms. They felt too big, too loud—like the sky itself was angry, and I had nowhere to hide. I watched a lot of them from the porches of seven different houses across West Virginia. None of them ever felt like mine.
One of my foster moms once told me, “If you can hang on through the storm, the world always looks a little better after.” I didn’t understand it then. But somehow, the words stuck, and over time, they started to feel true.
Now, I love storms. The crack of thunder, the snap of lightning—it’s chaotic, but it’s beautiful. My favorite part, though, is whatcomes after. When everything goes still. When the air smells new. And, if you’re lucky, a rainbow arcs across the sky like a quiet little promise.
I make a quick cup of coffee and set up at the kitchen table, opening the guardianship file for Aurora Vernal. I met her this week—spent time with her in the hospital. At first, it was just to collect medical notes and check in with the doctors… but then I couldn’t stop thinking about her sitting alone in that room.
She’s so small. Babbling and curious, but she cries a lot. The nurses say it’s just teething, but I know better. I know what it looks like when someone misses their parents.
My gut twists, and my fingers hesitate over the keyboard.
Mediation is tomorrow afternoon, and I want everything to be perfect. This is my first case here, and soon I’ll be handing it back to the original caseworker. I want to leave it better than I found it.
Once she’s back, I won’t have to see Kade anymore. He’ll be out of my world, and so will Aurora. This will all just be a brief blip in the middle of my life. And Aurora? That sweet little girl will be one step closer to the forever family she deserves. I can only hope that family is Kade—and that he gets his shit together in time.
After an hour, I close my laptop with a soft click. My eyes drift to the window again. The rain has stopped, and…
And there it is—stretching over the green pasture behind my little farmhouse—a perfect, glittering rainbow.
I stand and stretch, my sore knees cracking, hips protesting in quiet rebellion. The ache is familiar, rooted in years of undiagnosed damage, and I make a mental note to take something for the pain.
Leaning over the sink, I rest my elbows on the edge and stare at the rainbow. It’s not the first one I’ve seen here. But something about this one feels different—brighter, maybe. Likea sign that no matter what happens tomorrow, it’ll be okay. That I won’t screw this up. That somehow, I won’t hurt a child who’s already lost too much.
My eyes flutter closed.
And like always, I make a wish.
Chapter Eight
One Month Notice
Ishove my phone into my pocket and stare up at the old Wildwood courthouse, doing all I can not to pass out or run back to my truck.
For the last week, I’ve gone back and forth on whether or not to even show up. Thought about calling Georgia. Thought about calling the judge. Thought about saying to hell with the whole thing.
Once, yeah, I wanted all of it. A wife. A family. Bunch of kids running through the fields while my old man laughed from the porch.
But that dream died with him and got buried in the desert with me.
Still, I spent the last week reading everything I could find online, just in case.
What babies eat. How often they nap. Diapers and potty training. Milestones. Car Seats. Preschools, for fuck’s sake.
Turns out, they need a hell of a lot more than love.
They need structure. Safety. Stability.
A bedroom with four walls, at the very least.
None of which I’ve got.
The receptionist eyes me wearily as I step inside the lobby. “Kade Archer?”
My swallow sticks in my throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“They’re waiting for you down at the end of the hall on the left.”
