Owen was safe. Most of the crew was safe, in the way that coworkers could be safe—close enough to rely on in a fire, distant enough that they couldn't hurt you anywhere else.
"Again," Cal called out. "Santos, you're rotating to backup. Murphy, you've got the nozzle."
I bit back the protest that rose in my throat. Backup meant following, not leading. Backup meant trusting someone else to make the calls while I hauled line and watched their back. I hated backup. I hated trusting someone else.
But I nodded, because arguing with Cal was pointless, and because the part of me that never stopped calculating knew that I couldn't afford to be someone who needed managing. Couldn't afford to be anything but perfect, reliable, the firefighter who never caused problems and never needed special treatment and never, ever let her personal life bleed into her professional one.
Average got noticed. Average invited questions. Average got easily replaced.
I fell into position behind Murphy as we reset for the second run. He moved well. I'd give him that. Confident without being cocky, efficient in a way that spoke to years of experience. He'd been doing this longer than I had. Most of them had. I was still the newest full-timer on the crew, still needing to prove myself every shift.
The horn blared again. We moved.
This time I watched Murphy’s back, matched his pace, did my job without trying to do everyone else’s. It felt wrong, likewearing clothes that didn’t fit. I was the only woman on the crew, but that wasn’t the point. I did it anyway, because that was what the job required—and the job was the only thing I couldn’t afford to lose. I needed it to take care of the one person I loved.
Afterward, sweat cooling on my skin, gear hanging heavy on my frame, I caught Cal watching me again. That look. The one that said he saw more than I wanted him to see.
I turned away before he could decide to say something about it.
"Santos."
Cal's voice stopped me halfway across the apparatus bay. I'd been heading for the bathroom. Five minutes of privacy to check my phone, scroll through the emails I’d been avoiding, and pretend I wasn’t drowning.
"Office." The words hit my bloodstream like ice water. "Caseworker left a message."
I followed him without letting my face change. Through the bay, past the engine, into the small office that smelled like coffee and paperwork and the particular staleness of a room that never got enough air. Cal handed me a Post-it note with a phone number I already knew by heart.
"You can use the phone in here. Take your time."
He left. Closed the door behind him. Gave me the privacy I hadn’t asked for and didn’t know what to do with.
I stared at the number. Sandra Reeves, Department of Child and Family Services. The woman who held my sister's future in her bureaucratic hands, who checked boxes and filed reports and decided whether I was fit to raise my own sister.
My hands were shaking.
I pressed them flat against Cal’s desk until the trembling stopped. I had to control myself. I had to stay in control. Then I picked up the phone and dialed. Sandra answered on the second ring.
"Ms. Santos. Thank you for returning my call."
"Of course." My voice came out steady. Professional. The voice of someone who had everything under control. "What can I do for you?"
"I wanted to inform you that the first custody hearing has been scheduled." There was a pause as I heard papers shuffling. "Two months from now. March fifteenth. There will be follow-up hearings every two months after that, with a final determination expected in approximately eight months."
Eight months. The number echoed in my skull like a countdown. Eight months of hearings and evaluations and proving, over and over, that I deserved to keep the only family I had left.
"I understand." I was making such an effort to keep my voice steady.
"I also wanted to discuss some factors that might strengthen your position." Sandra's voice stayed carefully neutral. The practiced tone of someone who delivered bad news for a living. "Stable housing is important. Consistent income. The judge will want to see that Mia has a structured, supportive environment."
"She does."
"I'm sure." Another pause, but longer this time."Ms. Santos, I want to be direct with you. The opposing counsel has raised concerns about your living situation. Your work schedule. The fact that you're..." She hesitated. "A single guardian."
Single. The word landed like a verdict.
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that a two-parent household would significantly improve your position." Sandra's voice softened, just slightly. "Iknow that's not what you want to hear. But I'd be doing you a disservice if I didn't tell you the truth. The judge assigned to your case is traditional. She puts a lot of weight on family structure. If there were any way to address that concern..."
