I knelt down in front of her and held out my arms. I didn’t say much. I didn’t need to.
She ran into me and wrapped herself around my neck like she’d been waiting for permission.
She wouldn’t let go.
So I stayed.
I brought her apple juice in a paper cup and let her spill it all over my scrubs. I found a worn children’s book in the waiting room and read it out loud. Once. Then again. By the third reading, she tapped my name badge with her finger, studying it like it mattered.
“You’re the good one,” she said solemnly.
Something inside me cracked open.
Later, a caseworker pulled me aside. No next of kin. Temporary placement. Plans would be made in the morning.
Continued on the next page
