“They come home with me,” he said.
The worker explained that there were processes.
Background checks.
Emergency kinship placement paperwork.
A home inspection.
Follow-up hearings.
Peter nodded through all of it.
“Tell me what to sign.”
The words were simple, but they changed the shape of his life.
By 7:05 p.m., Peter was back at his house with a social worker walking through each room.
The loose hinge still hung crooked on the front door.
Screws were scattered on the porch where he had dropped them.
The coffee cup was still on the railing.
