SEVENTEEN #3
He sniffed, overtaking a car in front of us. “She was too demanding, and I’m not ready for that level of commitment.”
The irony of that statement wasn’t lost on me. It appeared both my brother and Kieran were on the same page. I imagined Adam’s issue was also a baggage one. He, too, had stuff to sort out. What had Kieran called it, rot inside?
Adam stared fixedly at the road, his knuckles white against the steering wheel as we started talking about our parents and the trial.
"They tracked me down at work," he said. His voice was too quiet, stripping the air from the car. "The CPS. They want me to stand up in court as a character witness."
My stomach dropped, a cold, heavy weight.
I looked out the passenger window, watching the trees swaying in the breeze.
Kathy, my case worker, had said they were treating our parents' crimes as two separate indictments. First, Dad's drink-driving—the hit-and-run and then R vs Jacob Lee Thorn, and R vs Jacob Lee Thorn and Louise Anne Thorn. The charges for the latter were: Cruelty to a child – assault and ill treatment, abandonment, neglect, and failure to protect. For the hit and run, there were pending charges between causing injury by dangerous driving and causing death by dangerous driving. Dependent on whether the girl he hit woke up. Aaron Blake’s poor sister. There had also been some wording about manslaughter. I still didn’t completely understand it.
"Are you going to do it?" I asked, filling the silence.
Adam didn't answer. We had filled out the initial Section 47 paperwork the night social services marched us into the children’s centre. We never signed a formal witness statement and hadn’t specified that we wanted to press charges against our parents. That’s why the crown was prosecuting.
Eventually, my brother replied. "I’ll have to.
It's a state prosecution," Adam muttered, his voice dropping as he shifted gears.
"The police took the choice out of our hands. Why do you think I went off the grid for a while? I needed to get my strength back before facing this. And now I’m more than ready to see the fucker.
" The fucker was, of course, our father.
We eventually found the house where Sophie was living after around half an hour. It felt good that she was closer than I thought. Thankfully, she lived on a pretty street. Once again, there were no cherry blossoms, just a mixture of oak and silver birch trees lining the pathways.
We were introduced to Sophie’s foster parents, who were incredibly nice. It was a small house, but neat—nothing like our old lives.
Sophie ran and threw herself into our arms, full of glee to see us. She showed us around, taking us on a tour and eventually into her bedroom. The room was decorated in pale pink and white, looking super girly.
Her bed was beside a specialised medical monitoring station.
A dedicated mini-fridge sat in the corner for her insulin vials and emergency glucagon kits.
Sophie explained that she had to wear a tracking device on her arm.
It featured a loud alarm system designed to wake her foster parents if her blood sugar dropped dangerously low overnight.
It was clear to me that her daily life was a delicate balancing act of carb-counting and insulin adjustments.
We spent around two hours together and enjoyed a light supper, where I watched her foster mum expertly calculate the exact grams of carbohydrates on Sophie's plate before administering her evening dose.
Kieran had messaged me a few times to ask if I was OK, and I replied, so thankful for his sudden support.
On the drive back, it became clear to me that Sophie had settled well with her new family. They were more than qualified to look after her, especially with her foster mom being a trained nurse who understood the constant vigilance the condition required.
My mind kept looping back to what Sophie had said about adoption—the innocent confusion in her eyes as she admitted she didn't really understand what it all meant. It made me think of the frantic conversations I’d had with my aunt and their desperate attempts to appeal Sophie’s guardianship to bring her back to live at the house.
We wanted her with us, but wanting it didn't make it right.
"She's safe there," Adam said quietly, staring out at the passing road. "They actually know how to take care of her." He took the words from my mouth.
Hearing him say it aloud only cemented the truth. Did I miss my sister? Yes. Every single day. But did I still think she belonged with the Rooks? Not anymore. Not after seeing how happy, safe, and medically secure she was with a family who could give her the precise care she needed to survive.
A painful clarity settled over me. I knew right then that I needed to speak with Vanessa.
My chest tightened at the mere thought of it, knowing that what I was about to say would surely break my heart all over again.
But my own feelings didn't matter anymore. This wasn’t about what was right for me.
It was about what was right for my family.