But if she had changed one part of the story, what else had she changed?
Maya studied my face.
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
Before she could respond, a social worker entered the room.
Her name was Lena Morales. She had a composed face, kind eyes, and a folder tucked under one arm.
She asked to speak with us together.
Lena explained that the hospital’s concern was not merely Maya’s infection. It was the combination of her condition, the lack of food, the low temperature in the apartment, and the absence of the people who had agreed to care for her.
“No one is accusing either of you of neglecting your child,” she said. “But we need a clear plan before discharge.”
Maya stiffened.
“Are you going to take Liam?”
“No,” Lena said gently. “That is not what I said.”
Maya reached for my hand.
Lena waited until her breathing settled.
