“Take a seat, Mr. Callahan,” she said, settling behind a desk that felt too large for the space.
I sat and tried to keep my voice calm. “If something’s going on with Dani, I need you to tell me. It’s important.”
“Dani is a very angry child," she said, pressing her lips together. "Understandably so. She lashes out. Withdraws. She’s fixated on being separated from her sister, which makes her even more emotionally volatile.”
“She’s fourteen,” I said. “She doesn’t need to be perfect. She needs to be with her sister.”
She smiled again, softer this time. Sympathetic. “I know. Believe me, I wish it were that simple. I’d hate to see her jeopardize your family's chances of adopting the younger girl because she isn’t emotionally stable.”
I found myself nodding slowly. What she said made sense. I hated that it made sense.
“She’s actually asked about you.”
That caught me off guard. “Really?”
“Well... maybe not asked," she clarified. "But she mentioned the officer she bit.”
“Yeah. That was me.”
She smiled—a dazzling, practiced smile. A small birthmark hovered above her full lips. It made it difficult to focus on anything else. “You’re braver than most. I wouldn’t want to be on the wrong side of that girl’s teeth.”
I let out a low chuckle. “She thought we were taking her away from her only family.”
She tilted her head, eyes studying me with unnerving calm. “Isn’t that exactly what you did?”
The words hit harder than they should have—because they were true.
“Yes, we separated them. But what we want now is to reunite them. They both deserve a chance. A home.”
Her smile lingered this time, softer, almost admiring. “Not many men would go this far. It’s... rare.”
A beat of silence followed. Just long enough to shift the air between us.
“I’ll keep you updated,” she said, standing. The movement was deliberate, signaling our conversation was over. “Elle’s got a long road ahead, but if she makes progress, we can talk about a supervised visit.”
I rose to my feet. “Thank you, Ms. Fletcher,” I said, handing her Dani's things. “Can you make sure she gets this?”
She smiled again, a little slower this time, just enough to draw me in.
“Of course,” she said. “And please, call me Meghan.”
***
Every other week, I’d stop by the group home with something in hand. Mostly drawings from Izzy, little notes scrawled in crayon, updates from my mom about school, bedtime routines, Izzy’s latest fascination with butterflies or pink glitter shoes. My parents never missed a detail. I figured if Dani couldn’t be with her sister, the least we could do was make it a bit less difficult.
I wasn’t allowed to see Dani directly. Meghan let me know it was the therapist's recommendation until further notice.
"She needs space," Meghan said.
So I handed things off to her. Letters, photos of Izzy with a toothless grin, her first day of school, a birthday party, the special drawing of the three of us—Dani, Izzy, and me—holding hands in front of our house. She labeledus like a school project: Me. Dani. Cal. She spelled my name with a K.
I remember thinking: maybe Dani would laugh at that.
Six months went by. The adoption was finalized. Izzy was officially a Callahan, and I wanted Dani to know we hadn’t forgotten her. I sat down one night and wrote her a letter. Nothing fancy, just honest. I even told her about the tattoo.
I gave the envelope to Meghan like I had every other one, thinking maybe this one would finally reach Dani. Make her want to talk to me.
Two weeks later, I came back, and Meghan handed the unopened letter back to me.
