At nine that night, Ruth lets you sit in when she explains the next steps to Addie.
No sugarcoating. Temporary protective custody. Emergency placement. Investigation. Interviews. Court orders. A long road with more adults deciding things than children should ever have to endure.
Addie sits on the hospital bed, toes bandaged, shoulders rigid. “Can I stay with Lily?”
“Tonight, yes,” Ruth says. “After that, we’ll try to keep you together.”
“Try?”
Ruth does not lie. “I can’t promise outcomes I don’t control.”
That is when Addie turns to you.
“If they separate us,” she says, “he’ll get her.”
Ruth begins, “Addie, that’s not how this works,” but Addie is not listening to Ruth. She is looking at you with naked desperation so severe it almost feels private.
Something reckless rises in you.
“Can I take them?”
The room stills.
Ruth blinks. “Excuse me?”
“You need emergency kinship or foster placement, right? I know I’m not family, but I have a secure home, staff, resources, medical access. I can keep them protected while the case moves.”
Vaughn, leaning near the door, says nothing, but one corner of his mouth twitches in disbelief.
Ruth studies you with professional suspicion. “Mr. Parker, with respect, that is not a hotel upgrade.”
“I know.”
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