Meanwhile, Delaney surprised me.
She didn’t fight the emergency order. She accepted her absolute rock-bottom. She started court-mandated counseling, went to AA meetings, ended all contact with the man from the crash, and moved into a tiny, depressing one-bedroom apartment near the highway.
Eventually, the court ordered supervised visits at the county center.
The first visit was agonizing. We sat in a room that smelled like old carpet and bleach, a social worker watching from the corner. Delaney sat on a plastic chair, her arm still in a brace.
Micah hid behind my leg, refusing to look at her. Elsie clung to my neck.
Delaney didn’t push. She didn’t cry and beg for their forgiveness, placing her emotional burden on them. She just sat on the floor, opened a box of Legos, and started building a tower.
“I missed you guys,” she said softly, not looking up, just snapping the blocks together. “I’m right here if you want to play. If you don’t, that’s okay too.”
