I look at Claudia, who nods.
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll type it in my notes.”
I’m sitting on a leather seat in a private jet owned by Fairfax Media, and Claudia Holloway-Moretti is beside me, tapping away on her phone, completely oblivious to the fact that I have never flown in my life.
My stomach is still somewhere back in Brooklyn, tangled in shock and adrenaline and the voice of a girl I hadn’t spoken to since high school telling me my mother wrecked a car and my three-year-old sister, whom I have never met, needs me.
All the girls were there tonight. The box, the laughter, Savannah waving at her reflection in the glass. That world feels impossibly far from the one we’re flying toward.
I grip the armrest when the plane shifts, heart lurching into my throat.
Claudia glances over and gives me a small smile, soft and knowing. “First time?”
I nod, embarrassed by how obvious I must look.
“You’re okay,” she says gently, like she’s talking to Savannah instead of me. “Feels weird at first.”
Weird isn’t the word. Terrifying fits better.
I swallow hard. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
She sets her phone down, then turns fully toward me, attention fully on me. Not psychologist mode exactly, more human than that. Warm. Present.
“I know,” she says quietly. “But you’re not alone in it.”
I shake my head, tears already threatening again. “I am barely taking care of myself right now. How am I supposed to take care of a child I’ve never even met?”
Claudia leans back, voice calm and even. “You don’t have to solve her whole life’s problems tonight. You just have to show up.”
I stare at my hands. Lucy. Three years old. Broken wrist. A stranger with my blood.
“My mom’s going to jail,” I whisper.
“She should,” Claudia says softly. “And Lucy will need stability. That doesn’t mean perfection. It just means someone safe.”
Safe. The word echoes in my chest like a responsibility I didn’t ask for.
“I was eight when my mom overdosed,” Claudia says after a moment, voice low. “They moved me through homes like furniture. Nobody knew me. Nobody really tried.”
I look at her, startled.
“You know what mattered most?” she asks.
I shake my head.
“That someone would’ve come for me.” Her eyes meet mine. “You’re already doing the thing I needed.”
My throat tightens painfully.
“I don’t have space,” I say. “I don’t have money.”
Claudia nods slowly. “There are kinship placements. Emergency guardianship. Temporary arrangements. We’ll talkthrough every option with the caseworker. Nothing gets decided without you understanding it.”
I blink at her. “You’ll stay, I?—?”
She squeezes my hand gently. “I’m not letting you walk into the system alone.”
The plane hums steadily beneath us, carrying me away from the glass boxes and catered sandwiches and the life I thought I was managing toward a child who suddenly needs me more than I’ve ever needed anything.
