Chapter 13 - Grace
Grace arrived with one pink backpack.
That was all.
Six years old.
Brown hair tied unevenly.
Green jacket.
Shoes half a size too big.
She held Maria’s hand and stared at our house.
Sophie stood beside me on the porch.
I had faced armed men with less fear.
“Hi, Grace.”
Sophie said.
The little girl looked at her.
Then at me.
“Are you the army guy?”
I blinked.
Maria smiled.
“I told her about you.”
“Yes.”
I crouched slightly.
“I’m the army guy.”
Grace stared at my face.
“Do you have a gun?”
Sophie inhaled.
I answered carefully.
“Not here.”
“Why?”
“Because this is my home.”
Grace considered that.
Then nodded.
Apparently satisfactory.
She walked inside.
The first thing she noticed was the stairs.
Then the dog we did not have.
“Where’s your dog?”
“We don’t have one.”
She frowned.
“Maria said houses have dogs.”
Maria laughed.
“I said some houses.”
Grace looked disappointed.
Sophie whispered to me,
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face said dog.”
“My face is neutral.”
“Your face is shopping for a Labrador.”
Grace turned.
“What’s a Labrador?”
Sophie glared at me.
I smiled.
The first evening was difficult.
Grace refused dinner.
Then asked for cereal.
We gave her cereal.
She ate two bowls.
At bedtime, she stood in the Morning Mist room.
We had added a bed.
Books.
A lamp.
Nothing too permanent.
We had been warned not to overwhelm her.
Grace stared at the wall.
“What color is this?”
“Morning Mist.”
Sophie said.
Grace frowned.
“That’s gray.”
I looked at Sophie.
“Finally.”
She pointed at me.
“Don’t start.”
Grace smiled.
Tiny.
The first one.
That night, she refused to sleep.
Sophie sat outside her door.
I sat across the hallway.
At midnight, Grace whispered,
“Are you still there?”
“Yes.”
Sophie answered.
“Both?”
I said,
“Both.”
Silence.
Then,
“Okay.”
She slept.
The next morning, Grace hid three pieces of toast in her backpack.
Sophie noticed.
She didn’t confront her.
Later, Maria explained food insecurity.
Some foster children stored food because they were afraid it might disappear.
That evening, Sophie placed a basket in Grace’s room.
Granola bars.
Crackers.
Applesauce.
A note.
YOU NEVER HAVE TO ASK FOR FOOD HERE.
Grace did not mention it.
But the next morning, the basket had been moved beside her bed.
Days became weeks.
Grace did not call us anything.
Not Ethan.
Not Sophie.
Definitely not Mom or Dad.
She mostly said,
“Hey.”
We answered every time.
She tested rules.
She broke a lamp and lied.
Sophie calmly explained consequences.
Grace screamed,
“You’re going to send me back anyway!”
Then froze.
The room went silent.
Sophie knelt.
“No.”
Grace’s face changed.
“You don’t know.”
Sophie’s eyes filled.
“You’re right.”
I watched her choose honesty.
“We don’t know what the court will decide.”
Grace looked down.
“But you breaking a lamp will never be the reason you leave this house.”
The little girl stared.
“Never?”
“Never.”
Grace began crying.
Sophie held out her arms.
Grace waited.
Then stepped into them.
I looked away because my eyes had filled too.
A month later, Grace discovered the four trees.
“Why four?”
She asked.
Sophie and I looked at each other.
We had discussed this.
Truth.
Age appropriate.
“They’re for four babies we lost.”
Sophie said.
Grace looked confused.
“Lost where?”
My chest tightened.
Sophie sat beside her.
“They died before they could come home.”
Grace stared at the trees.
“All four?”
“Yes.”
“Were they your kids?”
“Yes.”
Grace thought.
Then pointed.
“What were their names?”
Sophie smiled sadly.
“Benjamin.”
“Caleb.”
“Jamie.”
“Riley.”
Grace repeated each name.
Then touched the smallest tree.
“Hi, Riley.”
I nearly broke.
That night, Sophie cried in my arms.
“She talked to them.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t expect that.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying I know.”
“I know.”
She hit me with the pillow.
We laughed.
Grace yelled from the hallway,
“Are you fighting?”
“No.”
We answered together.
She opened the door.
“You look like you’re fighting.”
Sophie held up the pillow.
“He deserves it.”
Grace considered.
Then picked up another pillow and hit me.
Betrayal.
Complete betrayal.
I was outnumbered.
It was the happiest ambush of my life.
Three months into placement, Maria called.
A biological aunt had come forward.
My chest tightened.
“Relative placement?”
“Possibly.”
Sophie sat across from me.
Her face went pale.
“Does Grace know?”
“Not yet.”
Maria explained the aunt lived in Oregon.
She had not known Grace was in care.
She appeared stable.
The court would investigate.
After the call, Sophie walked outside.
I followed.
“Don’t.”
She said.
I stopped.
“I need five minutes.”
I gave her five.
Then ten.
When I returned, she was sitting beneath Riley’s tree.
“I knew temporary meant temporary.”
She whispered.
“Yes.”
“I knew.”
“Yes.”
“It didn’t help.”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“What if she leaves?”
“Then she leaves loved.”
“That sounds like something from therapy.”
“It is.”
“I hate therapy.”
“I know.”
She laughed and cried.
Grace found out the following week.
She became silent.
Then angry.
“I don’t want to go.”
“No one said you’re going.”
I told her.
“They always say that.”
Grace shouted.
“Then I go.”
Sophie knelt.
“We will tell you the truth.”
Grace’s face twisted.
“Truth is stupid.”
She ran upstairs.
The investigation lasted six weeks.
The aunt, Rachel Morgan, flew to Colorado.
We met her.
She was kind.
That almost made it worse.
If she had been cruel, we could have hated her.
Instead, Rachel cried when she saw Grace.
She had photographs of Grace’s mother.
She knew family stories we never could.
Sophie and I sat across from Rachel at a coffee shop.
“I’m not trying to take her away from you.”
Rachel said.
I looked at her.
“That might still be what happens.”
“I know.”
Sophie asked,
“Why now?”
Rachel wiped her eyes.
“I didn’t know.”
She explained family estrangement.
Changed phone numbers.
A sister who disappeared into addiction.
Years of silence.
Again.
Silence.
Always silence.
Rachel looked at us.
“I want Grace to know her family.”
Sophie’s jaw tightened.
“She has a family.”
Rachel nodded.
“Yes.”
She surprised us.
“She does.”
The court hearing was scheduled.
Grace stopped sleeping again.
She began storing food.
The basket emptied faster.
One night, I found her sitting beneath the kitchen table.
“You okay?”
“No.”
I sat on the floor.
She stared at me.
“Will you forget me?”
My chest broke.
“Never.”
“Everybody says that.”
“I’m not everybody.”
“You might.”
“I might forget where I put my keys.”
She almost smiled.
“I might forget what day the trash goes out.”
“Tuesday.”
“See?”
She laughed weakly.
“But I will never forget you.”
She looked down.
“Even if I go?”
“Especially then.”
Court day arrived.
We sat outside the courtroom.
Grace was with Maria.
Rachel sat across the hallway.
Sophie held my hand.
The judge called everyone inside.
Two hours later, we walked out.
The decision was not final.
More evaluation.
More waiting.
Grace would remain with us temporarily.
Relief mixed with dread.
On the drive home, Maria called.
There had been a development.
Rachel had submitted something unexpected.
“What?”
Sophie asked.
Maria paused.
“She’s withdrawing her request for placement.”
We stared at each other.
“Why?”
I asked.
Maria sounded emotional.
“She says Grace already has parents.”
Sophie covered her mouth.
But Maria continued.
“There’s more.”
My heart started pounding.
“The department is prepared to recommend termination of the remaining parental rights.”
Silence.
“And if the court agrees…”
Maria paused.
“You and Sophie would be eligible to adopt her.”
Sophie began crying.
Grace sat in the back seat.
She looked between us.
“What does adopt mean?”
The question stopped everything.
Sophie turned around.
Her voice shook.
“It means maybe you wouldn’t have to leave.”
Grace stared at her.
“Ever?”
Sophie looked at me.
Then back at Grace.
“Ever.”
Grace didn’t cry.
She simply whispered,
May you like
“Can I call you Mom now?”
And Sophie broke completely.
