Another was from the same week Lizzy had asked whether she could take leftovers home from my house.
At the time, Gloria had laughed and said the child was going through a phase.
Standing in that kitchen, I understood that the pattern had been visible for months.
I had simply viewed each warning separately because the full picture was too painful to accept.
The loose clothes.
The missed visits.
The constant explanations.
The way Lizzy watched Gloria before speaking.
The request to live with me.
The midnight call.
The outside latch.
The empty bottle.
The care deposits.
The withdrawals.
None of it was separate anymore.
I stayed until the sky began turning gray.
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By morning, I contacted Lizzy’s school and asked about her attendance.
The response came quickly.
She had missed nearly every day she was supposed to attend.
There had been excuses, vague explanations, and promises that she would return.
