Then came the void. Sarah moved into a two-bedroom apartment in an older part of town where she’d grown up.
Her mother had passed away years ago; she’d never known her father. She was alone. Her job as a freelance editor paid the bills, but barely.
She ran into Hope at the grocery store once. Her former mother-in-law gave her a cold nod and walked past as if Sarah were a ghost. At thirty, Sarah realized the true depth of her loneliness. Friends with families stopped calling.
The silence of her apartment became a second skin. The idea came to her while she was browsing the internet and saw an article about the foster system.
She remembered the doctor’s words: “So many children need a home.” Sarah started researching adoption and foster-to-adopt programs. “If I can’t have my own, I’ll give a home to someone who needs one,” she decided. It gave her a sense of purpose.
She worked more, took on extra projects. She started a “future kid” fund. She knew it wouldn’t be easy.
A single woman with a modest income—agencies would find a dozen reasons to say no. Но for the first time in years, she felt a spark of hope. She had no idea that a chance encounter at a farmers’ market would change everything.
The night was long and restless in Sarah’s apartment. Ben woke up several times, his cries echoing with the sound of a child who had learned that the world doesn’t always answer. Sarah got up every time, warming formula, changing diapers made from old towels, and whispering soft, meaningless words—promises she wasn’t sure she could keep.
At dawn, she noticed Nathan wasn’t sleeping. He was sitting upright in the armchair, staring at the wall. “You should rest,” she said, sitting beside him and touching his shoulder.
The boy flinched like a stray dog, then looked at her with a mix of fear and hope. “If… if Mom came back and we aren’t there…” he started. Sarah squeezed his shoulder, feeling the thin bones beneath his skin.
“We’ll go to your place this morning,” she promised. “Right after breakfast. We’ll figure it out.” Nathan nodded and briefly leaned against her—a fleeting moment of trust before he pulled back.
Breakfast was quiet. Sarah made eggs and toast. Nathan ate slowly, with a strange politeness, scraping every last bit from the plate.
She watched him, noticing the bitten-down fingernails and the bruises on his elbows. A life lived on the edge. Ben, full of formula, was sleeping peacefully.
With a clean face and a fresh blanket, he looked like any other baby. Only the diaper rash hinted at the neglect. “Ready?” Sarah asked when Nathan finished.
The boy nodded. His eyes held a look adults rarely see in children—the knowledge that miracles are temporary. That you always have to go back.
The neighborhood they drove to was one Sarah usually avoided. The apartment buildings were gray, with crumbling brick and broken benches. The puddles in the parking lot never seemed to dry up.
“There!” Nathan pointed to a building, his hand trembling. The hallway smelled of stale cigarettes, trash, and damp concrete.
The stairs were littered with junk. On the first floor, a rusted stroller sat abandoned. Sarah pulled Ben closer, shielding him from the very air of the place.
The baby whimpered but went quiet, as if sensing the need for silence. “Second floor,” Nathan whispered. The door to the apartment was ajar—a cheap wooden door with peeling paint and a kick-mark at the bottom.
The smell of sour beer and unwashed laundry wafted out. Sarah realized it was the smell of a life that had been given up on. “Mom?” Nathan peeked inside, his voice turning small and pleading.
The only answer was a raspy cough and the sound of something hitting the floor. Nathan looked back at Sarah, his face tight. “She’s home,” he said, and the resignation in his voice was devastating.
Sarah pushed the door open. It was exactly what she expected, but seeing it was different. The hallway was dark, the lightbulb smashed. Piles of clothes, empty bottles, and crumpled fast-food bags covered the floor. A cockroach scurried across the wall.
“Come in,” Nathan said, leading the way. In the small kitchen, a single bare bulb illuminated the squalor.
Dirty dishes were piled so high they looked like a strange sculpture. An old jar was filled with cigarette butts. A woman sat at the table.
Sarah couldn’t believe this was the boys’ mother. She looked decades older than she likely was. Her hair was greasy and thin, her face gaunt, her eyes bloodshot. Her skin was a sickly gray with red blotches.
She wore a stained bathrobe over a dingy t-shirt. She looked up, her eyes struggling to focus. “Where the hell have you been, you little brat?” Her voice was a gravelly rasp that made Sarah flinch.
Nathan stepped back, pressing against Sarah and trying to shield Ben. “I… we…” he started, but the woman was already looking at Sarah. “Who are you?”
She tried to stand, wobbled, and grabbed the table. “Social services?” Sarah gripped Ben tighter, a wave of fury and horror rising in her chest.
This woman, the person who brought these boys into the world, had become a shell. “No,” Sarah said, keeping her voice steady. “I found your children yesterday. They were alone and starving. This baby could have died.”
The woman, Alice, squinted, a sly look crossing her face. “So? You took ’em in?” She let out a hacking laugh.
“Now you’re gonna lecture me, right?” “Do you realize they could be taken away?” Sarah’s voice shook. “CPS, the police…”
“Where are they gonna go?”
Comments are closed.