I did know.
I knew Vicky needed someone who wouldn’t disappear.
I knew she had already lost both parents.
And I knew I wasn’t going to let her lose her brother too.
After I refused, the complaints began.
Child services started receiving reports about me.
Denise claimed I left Vicky home alone.
She claimed I barely fed her.
She said I had a temper and frightened my sister.
Every accusation brought another inspection.
Every inspection meant another person walking into our home and looking at the life I had been desperately trying to hold together.
One afternoon, a child-services worker stood in my kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
Inside were milk, eggs, yogurt, apples, leftovers, and three lunches I had already packed for Vicky.
Everything was organized.
Everything she needed was there.
