The sergeant looked at her skeptically. “Are you a relative?” “No.”
“Then it’s tough,” he shook his head. “They usually go to state-run facilities first. It’s a long process for a non-relative. But you can talk to the caseworker.”
The bureaucracy began. The next few days were a blur. The apartment was raided. Alice was taken into custody.
Nathan clung to Sarah’s hand until they forced him into a state car. Sarah handed Ben over to a caseworker with a feeling like her heart was being ripped out.
The boys were placed in a temporary shelter. Ben was diagnosed with malnutrition and a severe ear infection.
The doctor talked about developmental delays. Nathan had signs of old injuries—cracked ribs that had healed poorly. Sarah watched through the glass of the clinic, feeling every one of his scars as if they were her own.
Alice was released on bail. She looked confused in the police footage Sarah saw later. “Kids? What kids? Oh, them. Yeah, I had a drink, so what? Nathan’s a liar, he’s just trying to get back at me for being strict.”
The court dates began. Sarah sat in the back of the room, her back straight, her lips pressed together. She didn’t want to say anything that would hurt her chances.
Outside the courtroom, life went on. Sarah went to work, but her mind was at the shelter. She visited the boys every day, bringing books and toys. Nathan was starting to thaw, even smiling occasionally.
“When are we going home?” he asked once, and that “home” sounded like a prayer. Sarah could only hug him, unable to make a promise she couldn’t guarantee. She filed the paperwork for foster-to-adopt, but the response was cold.
“Single woman. No parenting experience. Freelance income. And two kids at once, one with medical needs. Do you understand the responsibility?” the caseworker asked, a woman with sharp glasses and a skeptical frown.
“We have to put the children’s best interests first.” As if Sarah hadn’t thought of that every second.
As if she hadn’t woken up in a cold sweat dreaming of Nathan calling for her. “I can do this,” she said, looking the woman in the eye. “I love them. I will do whatever it takes.”
“Love,” the caseworker said, “doesn’t pay the mortgage or provide a two-parent home. These kids need stability.” As if their father hadn’t abandoned them.
As if Alice hadn’t tried to sell them for a bottle of gin. As if a marriage certificate was a magic shield. The judge made a ruling.
Alice’s rights were suspended, and she was given a suspended sentence with mandatory rehab. She looked annoyed, as if she’d been given a parking ticket. When the judge asked if she had anything to say, she uttered a line that haunted Sarah.
“Who wants ’em anyway? They’re just a burden.” In that moment, Sarah realized Alice hadn’t just lost her way; she’d lost her soul.
The foster process dragged on. Sarah collected references, passed inspections, and met with psychologists. She worked late into the night on freelance projects to boost her savings.
She painted the second bedroom, putting up shelves and buying a crib. She was determined to prove she could provide a home.
One day, when another delay was announced, Sarah snapped. “Listen,” she said, her voice low but like steel. “I was married to a man from a ‘perfect’ family. He had money, status, and a big house. And he left me the second he found out I couldn’t give him a biological child. Is that your ideal of a stable home? A man who walks away when things get hard?”
She took a breath. “These boys had a father. Where is he? Why wasn’t he there when an eight-year-old was raising a baby? So don’t talk to me about ‘traditional’ families. I know what loyalty is. I know what unconditional love is. And I’m ready to give them everything I have.”
The room went silent. The caseworker looked at her for a long time. “I’ll need your updated tax returns,” she said finally.
“And a letter from your employer. A full one.” It wasn’t a ‘yes.’
But it was a crack in the wall. Sarah walked out on shaky legs, her heart pounding.
But the hope was there. “Do you really want us?” Nathan asked during a visit. They were in the shelter’s common room.
Ben was asleep in a playpen nearby. Sarah looked at the boy—haggard, but so brave. “More than anything,” she said.
“Why?” He wasn’t being rude; he was genuinely confused. “You’re alone. You don’t have a husband. Why do you want us?”
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