”
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.”
“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.
Leave a Comment