Then it cut to black.
The analyst frowned. “The file is corrupted at this section. We’re working on recovery.”
“How much is missing?” I asked.
“Unknown. There are fragments.”
“Recover them.”
“We are.”
Elise gave me a warning look, but this time she did not correct my tone.
Maya’s voice came through the speaker. “The children cannot hear this yet. Not like this.”
“No,” I said. “They hear only what Dr. Patel says is appropriate.”
“Elise,” Maya said, “does this change placement considerations?”
“It may increase the need for security and discretion,” Elise replied. “But emotionally, Nathan remains the most viable family placement if approved.”
Maya nodded. “Then we keep moving.”
Keep moving.
That was all any of us could do.
The children’s transition to Nathan’s care happened gradually.
Day visits became longer.
Then an overnight.
Lily
packed carefully: pajamas, two books, her toothbrush, a sweater, and a small framed copy of the photograph of Anna with the twins as babies. Owen packed Captain, the wooden truck, three socks, no pajamas, and seventeen small rocks he claimed were important.
Ms. Paula found the pajamas.
Nathan made spaghetti for dinner.
Too much spaghetti.
Enough spaghetti for six adults and possibly a marching band.
Lily twirled noodles on her fork with intense concentration. “You made a lot.”
Nathan glanced at the pot. “I panicked.”
Owen nodded. “It happens.”
“Does it?”
“Yes. Ryker forgot pancakes.”
“I didn’t forget them,” I said from the video call Nathan had placed on the kitchen counter. “I had not prioritized them.”
Lily giggled. “That means forgot.”
Nathan pointed a wooden spoon at the phone. “You’re being outvoted.”
“I see that.”
The overnight was not perfect.
Owen woke at two in the morning and cried
because he could not remember where the bathroom was. Lily tried to help, became frightened herself, and Nathan found both of them in the hallway holding hands in the dark.
He did not turn on the bright overhead light.
He switched on a small lamp.
“Hey,” he said softly, crouching. “New houses are confusing at night.”
Owen wiped his face. “I forgot.”
“That’s okay. I forget where I put my keys every day.”
Lily sniffed. “Keys don’t get scared.”
“You haven’t met my keys.”
She stared at him.
Then she gave the tiniest smile.
Nathan walked them to the bathroom, then to the kitchen for water, then back to bed. He sat on the floor between their two small beds until they slept again.
In the morning, he called me.
“They stayed,” he said, voice rough with wonder.
I stood in my kitchen, looking at the dandelions long since wilted
but still in their glass.
“They did.”
“I was afraid I’d do it wrong.”
“You will.”
“Helpful.”
“You’ll do it wrong and repair it. That seems to be the job.”
