Chapter Twenty
A month later, and Savannah had settled into preschool better than he’d expected.
She still clung some mornings. Some days she went in easy and barely looked back.
Others she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered that she didn’t want him to leave.
Tanner got through those mornings by prying her fingers loose one at a time and reminding himself she always calmed down ten minutes after he left.
The staff had told him that more than once. She was fine once she got started.
The house had started to feel less temporary too.
There were groceries in the cupboards before they ran out.
He kept milk in the fridge and fruit in a bowl on the counter because Savannah would eat strawberries if she saw them first. The locks had all been checked twice.
Then checked again because twice hadn’t felt enough.
Her bed was made every morning even if she spent half the night kicking the blanket onto the floor.
He’d booked her in with a doctor. The appointment card sat tucked under the sugar jar so he could see it.
He had started the paperwork he could manage and stacked the rest in a neat pile he kept pretending he’d get to.
Nothing was finished. Everything still felt one mistake away from falling apart. But there was a routine now.
Miles came over a couple of nights a week and that part had slid into place so easily Tanner still didn’t know when it had stopped feeling strange.
Sometimes Miles brought food because he was coming straight from work.
Sometimes Tanner cooked and let Miles dry dishes after because it was easier than arguing.
Sometimes they ended up in bed with no words between getting Savannah down and shutting Tanner’s bedroom door.
Sometimes they didn’t touch much at all and would just lay there with Miles warm behind him, and one of his hands on Tanner’s stomach.
They hadn’t put a name on anything and Tanner didn’t want one.
A name felt like something that could be taken away or used against him later.
This was easier. Simpler. They were seeing each other.
They weren’t seeing anyone else. Miles came over.
Tanner let him stay. That was enough…most of the time.
That afternoon Savannah was in the living room drawing on the low table Mrs. Hemsworth had dragged over from her own place because she said children needed somewhere proper to sit and color.
The crayons were spread everywhere. So was the paper.
Savannah had drawn one lopsided house and a purple cat with six legs and was now deeply focused on whether the sun needed a face.
Tanner stood at the kitchen counter sorting through the pile of post Mrs. Hemsworth had left on the step earlier.
She had made some comment about how his box looked like it had survived two wars and a flood and he needed to replace it before winter came around again.
He’d said yeah and not committed to anything.
Most of the mail was rubbish. Supermarket flyer. Phone bill. Something about insurance he couldn’t afford. He tossed one envelope aside, opened another, and was halfway through deciding whether he needed to keep it when he saw the logo in the top corner of the next one.
His hand stopped.
He stared at it for a second too long, the rest of the kitchen dropping away while his heartbeat picked up.
“Tanny?”
He looked up too fast. Savannah had twisted around on the rug and was holding up a green crayon. “This broke.”
“Use another one.”
“It’s my green.”
Tanner swallowed. “I’ll fix it in a minute.”
She accepted that and turned back to the paper. Tanner looked down at the envelope again. He knew the logo. He’d seen it before. Once was enough. His fingers had gone cold by the time he slid one under the flap and tore it open.
The first read through didn’t register so he forced himself to go back to the top and read it again, slower this time.
Follow-up home assessment.
Date and time.
Child to be present.
Additional staff member attending.
Part of determining next steps.
It was just a letter. He knew that. He could hear Miles saying exactly that if he were standing there. But all Tanner’s body heard was the threat.
They’re coming to judge the house.
They want Savannah there so they can look at her while they decide.
His grip tightened on the page until it creased.
“Tanny.”
This time Savannah’s voice came from closer. She was standing in the doorway between the living room and the kitchen with purple on one hand and the broken green crayon still clutched in the other.
He folded the letter too and put it down. “What?”
“You said minute.” He stared at her and she stared back with that direct little frown she got when she thought he was the one being unreasonable.
Tanner crouched, took the broken crayon from her, and clicked the two pieces together as though that would fix it. “Use dark green.”
“I wanted this one.”
“Use dark green,” he repeated, hearing the rough edge in his own voice.
Savannah’s mouth trembled.
He shut his eyes and forced himself to breathe. “Sorry.” He opened his eyes, stood and opened the drawer where the crayons were kept now. “Here.”
She took the other crayon and looked up at him. “You sad?”
“No.” She kept looking so Tanner made himself soften his face. “No, baby. I’m okay.”
Savannah went back to the table, but she kept glancing over after that.
He picked the letter up again and read it again. Read it once more. This time he noticed the date properly. Four days away.
Four days.
Four days until strangers walked through the house and decided whether he was enough.
Four days until someone stood in Savannah’s room and looked at her bed and her clothes and her toys and decided whether a nineteen-year-old with no legal standing should be allowed to keep the only person he’d ever run for.
His mind didn’t race. It went blank and then his body took over. He was moving before the thought fully formed. Upstairs first.
Savannah’s room. Backpack. Clothes. Underwear.
Socks. Pajamas. Her rabbit from the bed.
The blanket she still dragged around when she was tired.
He opened drawers fast and shoved things in.
He crossed to his own room and dragged out the holdall from under the bed.
Jeans. T-shirts. Hoodie. Cash tin from the wardrobe shelf.
The envelope of papers from the shoe box at the back.
Downstairs, he grabbed chargers from the wall. Wallet from the counter. House keys.
He was halfway through the second sweep of the kitchen before Savannah said, “Why you got bags?”
He froze long enough to turn.
She was standing by the table now, her little face pinched with confusion, a purple crayon still in one hand.
Tanner made his mouth smile even while inside all he felt was turmoil. “We’re going on a little trip.”
Her brow furrowed. “Now?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because.” He grabbed her water bottle from the draining board and shoved it into the side pocket of the backpack. “Because I said so.”
Savannah stayed where she was. That was worse than if she’d cried.
Tanner put the bag down and crouched in front of her. “Hey.”
“Where we going?”
“Just away for a bit.”
She looked over his shoulder at the open holdall on the counter. “Why?”
His smile started to crack so he kissed her cheek. “Just a little trip, sweetie.”
Savannah’s mouth turned down. “Miles coming?”
“No.” Tanner fixed a smile on his face.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s just us.”
Savannah considered that, then asked, “Mrs. Hemsworth know?”
Tanner stood. “Go get your shoes.”
She didn’t move. “Tanny?”
“Savannah.”
The sharper tone did it. Her eyes widened and she turned toward the hall without another word. Tanner pressed both hands flat on the counter and lowered his head. He could call someone. Cody. Orsen. Mrs. Hemsworth. Miles. Miles was the only name that made him hesitate.
The thought of Miles talking him out of leaving made his breath catch. Part of him wanted that and that scared him. Miles would tell him to slow down. To breathe. To read the letter again. To let him come over and help him think. To trust the process.
Tanner couldn’t trust the process. The process was how things got taken from you while everybody said it was just procedure.
He straightened and grabbed the envelope of documents. IDs, copies, birth certificates, anything he’d managed to keep. He checked the cash tin. Not enough, but it didn’t matter. He took it anyway.
Savannah came back carrying one shoe in each hand.
Tanner took them from her. “Come here.”
She climbed up onto the chair, and he crouched in front of her as he rested a foot on his leg. He got her shoe on and tied it then swapped to the other on.
“You mad at me?” she asked softly.
“No.” He kept his eyes on the laces because he didn’t trust his face. “No, baby.”
“Then why your face does that?”
He tied the second shoe and let his hand rest for a second on her ankle. “It’s just a lot today.”
She didn’t understand and he knew she didn’t. She picked up the rabbit from where he’d dropped it and hugged it to her chest.
He stood and did one last scan of the kitchen. Phone. Wallet. Bags. Letter.
He stared at the letter.
Leaving with nothing on the counter felt wrong. Not because he owed anyone an explanation but because vanishing without a word would set off alarms too fast. Mrs. Hemsworth would notice by nightfall. Miles—
No. He couldn’t think about that now.
He found a pen in the drawer by the fridge and dragged an envelope from the stack of unopened post. His hand hovered for a second.
I can’t lose her. I’m sorry.
He read it then tucked it under the CPS letter where it would be seen and then he picked up the bags, lifted Savannah onto his hip, and walked to the front door.
She was warm and familiar and heavy enough now that holding her with one arm made the muscles in his shoulder tighten. He unlocked the door, stepped outside, and locked it again behind him on instinct.
The street looked normal.
That always made leaving harder somehow. Just evening light slanting across the road and somebody’s dog barking two houses over and Mrs. Hemsworth’s curtains open across the street.
Savannah yawned against his shoulder.
“Where we going?” she asked again, sleepier now.
Tanner adjusted the bags in his grip and stepped off the porch. “Just for a bit,” he said then started walking.
At the end of the path he looked back once at the house with its curtains closed and the front step Mrs. Hemsworth had swept three days earlier because she said leaves made a place look neglected.
He told himself they’d be back before anyone really noticed.
He told himself he was doing the right thing.
He told himself safe was still something he could find if he kept moving.
By the time he reached the corner with Savannah growing heavier against him and the bag handles biting into his fingers, he knew only one thing for certain.
He no longer had any idea of what safe was supposed to look like.