“Sweetheart?” I reached across the table and touched his hand gently.
“I’m fine.”
“Terrible lie.”
His fork scraped uselessly against his plate. He was trembling. “And you’ll probably wish you’d never actually adopted me.”
“Callum.”
He pulled away from me, eyes filling with sudden tears. “Mom, I need to tell you something.” My own fork slipped straight out of my fingers. My stomach dropped hard. “Callum, what happened?”
He looked genuinely terrified. Then he whispered, “I have a sister.”
“Your file said you didn’t have any siblings placed alongside you.”
“She’s not actually placed with me.”
Callum explained that the two of them had entered foster care together, years earlier, back when Willa was still quite little. Her name was Willa. She was nine years old now. He’d made her breakfast every morning. Gotten her ready for school. Helped with her homework. Whenever she woke up scared at night, she’d come looking for him specifically.
