Chapter 25 #2
Maddie nods. “Her medical is current—immunizations, growth chart. We keep her records in a shared folder and you’re welcome to review.”
Porter does not seem delighted by our organization. She adjusts her glasses, and for the first time that I can recall since she walked into our home, she actually looks at Grayce.
“Ms. St. James,” she says, returning her attention to Maddie. “You intend to return to work?”
“Yes.” Maddie’s voice is firmer than before. “I’m applying for a child welfare position with the county.”
Porter doesn’t look impressed. “Won’t that destabilize the home environment? New caregivers, different routines—children of this age need a consistent attachment figure.”
My jaw ticks. “She’ll have one,” I say. “Two, actually.”
Maddie’s hand tightens on my knee, a silent I’ve got it. “Children benefit from stability,” she says. “They also benefit from caregivers who are fulfilled and supported. We’ll plan childcare appropriately and we’ll phase transitions.”
Porter’s pen scratches slowly. She tilts her head. “Explain to me again your support network. Family, neighbors, community.”
I breathe in, breathe out. We already went over this and I’m starting to feel like I’m talking around a gap in the floor.
“We have the support of my teammates and their families, who have been hands on already. Our neighbor two doors down is retired and has offered to help whenever we need.”
“Wait a minute,” Ms. Porter says, lowering her clipboard. “I’m not understanding how your teammates are part of this.”
“The Titans’ organization is a family. It’s been built on the promise of showing up for one another.”
Something flickers in Porter’s eyes and I can’t tell whether she likes my answer.
She looks at Maddie. “Ms. St. James. What about you?”
“I have…” Maddie falters and looks at me helplessly. “Actually, I have no one.”
Ms. Porter’s head snaps up and her mouth parts slightly as if she’s never heard of such a thing before. “No one?” She consults her folder, flips through some pages while her eyes scan back and forth. “Ahh, I see your background in foster care.”
I clear my throat. “Maddie has a new family now with me and the Titans.”
The woman’s face is carved from stone, not a flicker or flinch of muscle. She makes a clucking sound and scribbles more notes.
Porter turns a page. “Now. Your relationship.”
Maddie’s hand withdraws from my knee as if burned.
“You cohabitate.”
“Yes,” Maddie says.
“Are you romantically involved?”
The air thins. Grayce gnaws on her ring as she watches us.
Squeak. Squeak.
“No,” Maddie says. The word is crisp, immediate, a pane of glass slammed down. “We’re co-parents.”
Porter doesn’t blink. “If your relationship is unstable or ambiguous, the court will require clarity regarding roles.”
“We are stable and our roles are clear,” Maddie says, her words clipped and now edged with ice.
Porter makes another note, and then, almost as if she’s been holding it in, almost like it brings her a grim satisfaction to let it out, she peers over her glasses at Maddie.
“Given your foster care background, you must understand the importance of stability. Can you honestly say you can model that for a child when your own attachment history is so fragmented?”
The words hit like a blindside, and I know this because Maddie physically jerks before going pale. Her eyes flick, just once, toward Grayce. Then her gaze drops to her lap and stays there, fixed, like a punished kid.
Heat roars into my chest so fast I barely register standing. “Enough,” I grit out, the tone not savage enough for what I’m feeling.
Porter’s head turns toward me slowly, like an owl blinking. “Excuse me?”
“I said enough,” I growl, not hiding the menace.
“I’m doing my job, Mr. Karolak.”
“Your job is to evaluate this home. Not to weaponize Maddie’s past. You want stability data?
You have it. You want observation? Observe.
” I point to Grayce who has abandoned the teething ring as if she knows she needs to show some decorum in this moment.
“That is a happy, attached kid who is fed, safe and adored, and that’s mostly because of Maddie. ”
Porter doesn’t recoil, rather her chin lifts. “The court expects me to—”
“The court expects you to consider best interests,” I say. “Best interest looks like a woman who knows exactly what abandonment does to a kid and has made it her life’s work to keep other kids from ever feeling it. Her history isn’t a liability. It’s her credential.”
Silence. The furnace ticks. Grayce seems to glare at Ms. Porter.
Maddie’s breath is audible and when I glance at her, I find her lashes are wet. She blinks hard, once, twice, then scrubs her thumb under one eye and sits a little straighter.
Porter recalibrates. You can see it, the slow internal adjustment of a person who’s used to being the coldest thing in any room realizing she may have overshot.
She doesn’t apologize, but the next question is mercifully neutral.
“Religious upbringing?”
“Not at present,” Maddie answers, her voice confident and strong. “We’ll respect her preferences and keep an open dialogue as she gets older.”
“Name after adoption?” Porter’s pen stills as she looks between us.
“Donovan,” we say at the same time.
Porter watches our faces for a beat longer, as if waiting for a wobble. Maddie’s chin doesn’t dip. Mine doesn’t either. All is quiet and it seems oppressively heavy.
Then Porter writes it down. Her pen slows, just for a second, as if she recognizes what that choice means.
Does she understand it’s about honor? Probably doesn’t care.
She caps her pen, stacks her pages.
“I’ve seen what I need to see,” she says. “I will submit my report with a recommendation for the court to approve the adoption.”
I’m stunned by the declaration because I thought for sure I’d fucked it up by calling her out.
The woman looks at Maddie and, to my further shock, adds, “Your documentation is meticulous. That will reflect favorably.” Then to me: “Travel schedules are a factor. Your co-parent’s clarity and the established routine mitigate that.
” She adjusts her glasses. “Expect to hear from the court within six to eight weeks.”
“Thank you,” Maddie says, and it’s ragged around the edges but real.
Porter stands. We do the small dance of politeness as we walk her to the door, despite the fact that nothing about this felt polite.
There’s a professional handshake and then she’s gone. I let the door click shut and lean my forehead against it for half a breath. I realize my hands are balled into fists and I force myself to unclench them.
When I turn, Maddie is watching me, her expression guarded.
“She doesn’t get to define you,” I say. It comes out rough.
Maddie huffs what I think is meant to be a laugh and dies on the way out. “I know her job. I’ve done her job.” She swallows. “It still felt like being twelve and justifying why you should get to stay in a foster home.”
It hits so hard I have to put a palm on the doorframe to steady myself. Twelve. A number that should only ever mean birthday cakes and braces, not interviews with clipboards and cold chairs.
I cross the space between us, slow so she can sidestep if she wants to.
She doesn’t and I slide my hand along her forearm, then up to the back of her neck the way I do when Grayce is overtired and vibrating with feeling. Her skin is cool and goose-bumped. Her breath trips at the contact, but she doesn’t pull away.
“You were… unfairly amazing,” she says, voice small and fierce at the same time. “Thank you.”
“Always,” I say, because it’s the only thing that feels true. “Now… did you hear what that horrid woman said?”
Maddie’s mouth turns into a wide grin. “That she’s going to recommend the judge to grant the adoption!”
“Yes,” I exclaim and pick her up, twirl her around in celebration. When I set her down, she’s breathless and laughing. “Let’s go celebrate with ice cream.”
Maddie looks at her watch. “It’s a little past nine a.m.”
“Even more reason to celebrate,” I insist.