I insisted, repeating my plea over the phone, my breath visible in the icy air.
After the call ended, I stood alone, the emptiness of the street pressing in.
Later, a caseworker contacted me, their questions more about procedure than the child’s welfare.
Their distant manner left me feeling like an outsider.
Days passed, whispers spread through the neighborhood about a wealthy family.
I felt the scrutiny, the silent judgments.
At work, things were changing too. Managers seemed less friendly, their glances sharper.
The meeting with child welfare was approaching, and I dreaded it.
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