“And if, um, she was to remain sober until then?” My voice is hushed, and my eyes shut tightly, willing tears not to come.
“It would most likely delay the court proceedings for Willow’s adoption. Connie would need to meet housing requirements, find work, et cetera. A judge would likely grant her the time to attempt to become suitable for care.”
“Then?” I inhale, awaiting the part I dread to hear.
Rachel sighs. “Then they’d weigh up which option would be best for Willow.”
I clutch my chest and pull the shirt away from my skin as a rash forms, hot and stinging. The world hums louder than before. I force out a breath and inhale empty air. I can’t breathe…
“Chloe? Are you all right?” Rachel asks nervously as I stand and begin pacing in small, frantic circles.
“Sorry. Can I…” My tears burn. They’re slow-flowing and reflective of the ache in my chest as I gasp for breaths that do nothing to soothe me. “I need to go,” I say more forcefully than intended.
“Okay, Chloe. Whatever you need. It’s going to be okay. For now—”
I hang up on her before she finishes. I wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway. I sink to the floor, then go onto all fours, planting my forehead on the ground. The cold linoleum recentres me some, but not enough.
I count to twenty, forwards then backwards. It does nothing to prevent the nausea rising in me.I’m going to be sick.I pull myself up to the sink and throw up. My hand blindly reaches out for the cold tap. The water pours, washing my vomit down the drain. I cup my hands under the faucet to bring water to my face.
I let the sound and the coldness of the water take all my focus. For a while, this helps. I’m in a liminal space, between panic and reality, where there is fragile numbness. I bring another splash of cool relief to my face and turn off the faucet.
When I close my eyes, I’m transported back in time. I’m in my adult body, standing in the corner of our old living room, watching Connie claw across the stained beige carpet towards my six-year-old self.
A police officer and social worker talk to her, standing behind where she lies on her stomach. Another CPS agent is beside little-me, speaking to them. I don’t remember what they said. Younger me hugs the leg of the stranger. At that moment, they seemed a more comforting option than my mom.
Connie looks scared. She’d known that was her last chance. She gets a little too loud and little-me hides behind the agent The police officer pulls her back, arms outstretched behind her as she screams.
I’d had a bathroom accident in my pyjamas the night before, and I’m still in them. I couldn’t find any other clothes.
I stand there, covered in urine, crying and shaking as my mother is physically dragged away from me. She’s yelling to hug me goodbye; her words are slurred. I was so scared, but still went to grab my doll from the floor behind the lamp—not sure if I would get to pack my things this time around.
The memory fades, and I open my eyes to have nothing but the tiled wall of the kitchen in front of me. I lean over the sink, awaiting another dry heave that doesn’t come. Waves of panic rise and I do my best to dismiss them one by one.
I step backwards, shaking. I could have been standing over the sink for seconds, or maybe hours. I pull out my phone to check the time and remember I hung up on Rachel. I open a new email to her, hoping to apologise before she has the time to grow frustrated with me. I’m going to need her on my team.
Hi Rachel. Sorry for hanging up before. I will email you in the next few days in regards to visits. Feeling a little overwhelmed.
That’s as good as I can do right now.
I walk over to the couch and allow my tears to flow. Maybe Connie just wants visits, I tell myself. Maybe she doesn’t need more, doesn’t need to have custody or attempt it. Maybe she’s still going to let me have Willow.
I can’t imagine not having her.I won’t.I close my eyes tight and bring my hands to cup my face.It will all be okay,I tell myself, over and over, until it feels the tiniest bit true.
My phone chimes with a response from Rachel.
Hi Chloe,
Don’t worry, I have been hung up on an awful lot in this job. You okay? I know it’s overwhelming. It’s impossible not to worry about what comes next. But let’s remember where we are. Right now, we don’t know what Connie is hoping for, but the last time you met, she signed her rights away to you. That’s huge. That will be presented to a judge in seven months, and I’m sure they’ll see what I see. You’re an amazing guardian. You should pass your re-evaluation with flying colours. You’ve stepped up for Willow and worked so hard. These are only visits. Try to think of them as a few hours to yourself once a week, if you choose to not attend, and nothing more. I’m here if you have any questions or need to chat it through. Otherwise, I’ll need to know what time on Fridays works for you and Willow and whether that can start on the 19th.
I take a deep breath and feel my lungs fill fully like they haven’t been able to for the last half hour. Just visits. For now.I can compartmentalise with the best of them.
I reply,
Thank you, Rachel. Fridays at 11- we’ll need to leave at one to get back for her nap. We can start next week.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“Morning.” Warren speaks softly from the hallway. He is an early bird, sure, but there’s no way he is up at five by his choosing. I probably made too much noise pacing around the living room for the past twenty minutes.
