But Wren later told me he bought her a chocolate milk from the vending machine.
He denied it for months.
That afternoon, I met them after my exam.
The waiting room was full.
Mothers with diaper bags.
Old men with folders of paperwork.
Teenagers staring at the floor.
People who looked embarrassed to need help.
People who looked too tired to be embarrassed anymore.
My mother sat stiffly in a plastic chair, arms crossed.
Elowen bounced the baby on her knee.
The toddler slept against her side.
Wren was drawing a house on the back of an intake form.
It had four windows.
A chimney.
A crooked flower near the door.
I looked at that drawing and had to blink hard.
A woman with kind eyes called Elowen’s name.
My mother stood too.
The woman looked at the file.
“Only the parent needs to come back first,” she said.
