“Do you?”
You almost say no. Maybe that would be the honest answer. You do not know what midnight feedings feel like or how to braid a child’s hair or what cereal twelve-year-olds eat now. You know term sheets, cybersecurity, acquisition strategy, the architecture of loneliness inside a six-bedroom house. You know how to build a panic room and negotiate from weakness. You do not know how to become what this child is asking for.
Still, you hear yourself say, “I know enough not to walk away.”
Ruth’s expression softens by half an inch. “There would be background checks. Home inspection. Emergency authorization. A judge would still need to sign off.”
Elena steps in. “Given the trafficking risk, a highly secure temporary placement may actually be the safest option.”
Ruth glances between you and Addie. “This would not be about rescuing anyone, Mr. Parker. It would be about showing up, every day, in extremely unglamorous ways.”
That one almost makes you laugh.
“Then I’m overqualified,” you say.
The first night they stay in your house, no one sleeps.
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