Epilogue - Veronica

I clutched Eli’s hand tightly as we completed the final paperwork to foster children in Arizona. Signing on the dotted line, Veronica Walters, I handed the pen to my husband, who signed with a flourish.

He looked over at the child services worker with a carefully blank expression. We had worked hard to get this far, and part of that was monitoring what we’d been able to hide. The foster system wouldn’t take well to placing children in homes with murderers. Eli and I had gone round and round on this topic. Technically, they were only killing bad people … so … that negated it, right?

“All done?” I asked, trying to control my nerves .

The agency also did not consider my medical issues very favorably, but in the end, money talked. I had a private doctor on call, and my medical needs were always met. Technically, neither of us worked. We were devoted to having a child to enrich our lives and join our family.

The social worker watched as she took back the paperwork from us. “That’s it. Everything has been cleared. Plenty of children are looking for placement, but a few are most in need based on your parameters.” Her face pinched a little. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?”

“No,” Eli said flatly. Eli’s dream was to give children who had been shuttled from various foster situations a safe space.

“Very well. We have a few at a group home right now.” She didn’t bother trying to talk us out of it, but her face was pinched with displeasure.

J ust before we stepped into the doorway, Eli paused to look at me, but I tugged him through before he could ask me if I was sure. We were not changing our mind on these kids at the witching hour. We were not those sorts of assholes .

A boy of nine hovered on a couch, his eyes glossy with tears that hadn’t fallen. He was too thin, his brown hair rumpled as if he’d run his hands through it as he looked over to the girl who stood anxiously by the window. They’d been talking in low voices to each other, but they stopped when we came into the room. The girl wrapped her arms around herself, and her mouth set in a flat line.

“Josiah and Emily, I brought some people to see you. It could potentially be a new placement.” The social worker set her files down and adjusted herself on the couch across from the kids. She hadn’t been willing to give us much information on either of them but had said they were looking for placement for two foster children. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Walters.”

Emily looked over at me and then at Eli, her arms tightening further. “No thanks. I’ll stay here.”

“Ms. Page, if you’ll give us a moment,” I said softly. “So we can speak to them.” The kids looked even more alarmed, but the worker just scooped up her files, and as we’d already discussed with her (and paid for), she stepped from the room.

“Five minutes,” she warned .

Both kids cowered even further against the couch. Their faces showed that they expected bad things to happen in the next five minutes.

“I’m sorry for that, but I don’t trust her to keep her mouth shut,” Eli spoke. “I’m going to tell you something about me. Something private.”

“Dude. We don’t want to know,” Josiah spoke up.

“Listen,” Eli cut him off. “When I was small, I was put in foster care with my brother. We were both abused. Raped. Beaten. I was left for dead with my abuser for years.” I squeezed his hand in support. “I’m telling you this so you know why I’m here. “I needed someone. An adult who gave a shit to help me. The system was shit, and the adults were even shittier.” The boy gave a slow nod, and his eyes showed a tiny glimmer of hope. The girl’s fingers clenched and unclenched. “I got away and lived on the streets. It was hard and lonely. I wasn’t always the best man, but I have never hurt kids. I would never hurt you or let anyone else hurt you. Ever.”

“Eli and I wanted to adopt. We could give you a family,” I said.

“You should take her,” Josiah said, looking at Emily. “I’ll be okay.”

“We’ll take you both if you let us,” I said softly. It has to be your choice.” She nodded, which was good enough for us, even though her arms were still tightly wrapped around her elbows.

When we walked out of the group home with the kids and their belongings, I wished I could capture Eli’s triumphant look. We were taking them somewhere they would be loved, with real beds and food in their bellies, somewhere nobody would touch them inappropriately, somewhere safe.

We didn’t know if the road to healing for the kids would be easy or rough, but we were hoping that, in the end, they would find a permanent home with us. Eli and I were committed to trying to make that happen.

The End