The CPS lady is supposed to be here in about an hour. I’ve got Lily’s good shoes by the door and I keep checking the window. Dale doesn’t know yet. He’s still at work. I haven’t called my sister.

I haven’t called anyone. I’ve just been sitting here on this floor with two pink cards in my lap, the one she made me and a photo of the one she made her teacher, and I keep reading them over.

I should feel relief, I think. Somebody finally knows. The door’s finally cracked open after all these years.

But all I can hear is three little knocks, and a man asking who wants pancakes, and a little girl yelling “me.”