Anna didn’t speak again. She just helped Joelle finish her toast, cleaned the dishes without being asked, and sat with her sister on the couch, arms wrapped around her. Marcus paced near the fireplace.
He kept glancing at the door like it might do something. What happens to you now? Anna asked suddenly. He blinked.
Me? Yeah, you called them. You did the right thing. So what do you do after? He didn’t have an answer, because truthfully, he didn’t know.
He’d go back to meetings, probably. Review contracts, sit through calls with lawyers, CFOs, people who had never watched a little girl hold her dying mother’s hand, people who had never been tested in any way that really mattered. And then, without warning, Anna stood.
We should wait downstairs, she said. Don’t want them coming up here. Marcus stepped forward.
You don’t have to. It’s okay, she said. Joelle slipped her hand into her sister’s eyes, glossy but dry.
Are we going to another home, she asked. Anna didn’t answer, but Marcus did. I don’t know yet.
They were at the door when he stopped them. What? Anna turned. Marcus stared at them for a long beat.
I don’t want you split up. That’s, that’s not okay. Anna frowned, unsure.
I can call my attorney, have them stay involved. I can ask to supervise, maybe. Make sure you’re placed somewhere together.
Anna studied him carefully. Why, she asked. Because I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, he said.
And walking away right now would be another one. She didn’t say anything, but she nodded once. And Marcus knew, with startling clarity, that something had shifted.
Not just for tonight, not just for them, but for him too. By the time the woman from Child Protective Services arrived, Marcus had already made two phone calls and canceled the rest of his day. Her name was Denise Waller, mid-40s, gray trench coat, clipboard in hand.
She entered the suite with the tired look of someone who had seen too many sad stories and didn’t expect much new from this one. When she saw the girls seated quietly on the couch, Joelle half asleep against Anna’s side. Her expression softened but only slightly.
You must be Mr. Trenholm, she said, extending a gloved hand. Thank you for calling. I understand the children came to you directly, Marcus nodded.
Yesterday afternoon, their mother passed in the night. I confirmed it with the sheriff’s office. Denise glanced at the girls.
And they were alone since then? They walked to my building in the storm. Her eyes flicked up, surprised. In that blizzard? Yes, Marcus said.
Anna, he nodded toward the older girl, said her mother told them to find me. Denise turned to Anna with a gentler tone. Sweetheart, can you tell me your full name? Anna sat up straighter.
Anna Maxwell, this is Joelle, she’s five. Denise took notes briskly, then squatted to Joelle’s level. Hi, honey, I’m here to help.
Joelle didn’t respond. She pressed her face into Anna’s side. She doesn’t talk much to strangers, Anna murmured.
She talks at night, in her sleep. Denise gave a soft, understanding nod. She stood and turned to Marcus.
We’ll have to place them today. Temporary foster care, likely. They’ll be evaluated together, but I can’t promise they’ll stay that way.
If we can’t find one home willing to take both, no, Marcus cut in. They stay together. Denise blinked, surprised.
I’ve already spoken to my attorney, he said. Her firm will assist in oversight. I want to be involved in their placement.
I’m willing to provide resources, housing, oversight, whatever the system requires. You’re not a relative, she replied, guarded. Even with influence, it’s complicated.
I don’t care how complicated it is. I’m not letting them get lost in your system. Anna’s eyes widened slightly at that.
Denise studied Marcus. Are you saying you want to become their guardian? I’m saying I’m willing to do what’s necessary, until their situation is resolved. Mr. Trenholm, this process isn’t like acquiring stock.
There are hearings, interviews, home studies. It can take weeks, months, sometimes years. I have time, Marcus said, and I have space.
If this is about paperwork, I can bury you in it. Denise held his gaze for a long moment, then sighed. All right, I’ll mark this visit with a special note.
Temporary custody review can begin, but you’ll need to go through proper channels. Until then, they come with me. I have no authority to leave them here, even if I wanted to.
Marcus’s jaw tightened. Can I follow you? You may, but you’ll need to stay in the waiting area until they’re processed. He turned to Anna.
She met his eyes uncertain, but no longer afraid. Will you come back, she asked quietly. Yes, he said, as soon as they let me.
She nodded, okay. Joelle clutched the stuffed rabbit tighter as Denise gently helped them put on their coats. Marcus held the door.
Anna looked over her shoulder as they stepped into the hallway. He nodded once, firm. I meant what I said, he called after them.
You’re not alone. Marcus waited three and a half hours at the downtown intake center. The place was a cold maze of linoleum floors, plastic chairs, and hushed voices.
A family across from him argued in Spanish. A teenage boy with a busted lip paced the hall. Somewhere behind a locked door, Joelle and Anna were being logged, weighed, photographed, processed like packages instead of people.
His attorney, Nora Langston, arrived an hour into the wait, blazer sharp, phone constantly buzzing. I filed a petition for emergency guardianship, she said. But you’ll need to meet a family services advocate, pass a background check, and provide proof of a stable environment.
I own the top five floors of a building, which is fine, she said. But they’ll want more than money. They’ll want to know why you’re doing this.
He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was low, because I didn’t get there in time for my own son. And maybe, maybe this time I can do something that matters.
She paused, then nodded once. That’ll do. Two hours later, Denise returned, her expression unreadable.
I’ve placed them in a temporary home on 45th Street. Siblings, only unit, good reputation, no guarantees on how long they can stay. I want the address, Marcus said.
I’m not sure that’s appropriate. I’ll stay outside. I just need to see them walk in safely.
She studied him. I’ve been doing this job 20 years. Most people who offer help like this, they vanish when the ink dries.
I’m not most people. Good, she said, because those girls aren’t most kids. She handed him a slip of paper.
Here, but don’t press your luck. Marcus followed her car silently, his Escalade humming behind her sedan. At the foster home, a worn but clean two story building he watched from across the street as Anna helped Joelle out of the car.
Joelle looked around, uncertain, until her eyes met Marcus’s through the windshield. She didn’t wave, she didn’t smile, but she didn’t look afraid either. That was enough for now.
As Denise led them up the stairs, Anna turned once. Just for a second, Marcus gave a small nod. Her shoulders squared, and she followed her sister through the door.
Marcus stayed parked there long after the sun dipped behind the skyline, not because he didn’t have places to be, but because sometimes, watching over someone was the only thing you could do, and this time, he refused to look away.
It had been three days since the girls were placed in the group foster home on 45th Street, and Marcus Trenholm had driven past the building at least a dozen times, never stopping, never going in, just circling, watching, waiting. He hadn’t spoken to them since that morning outside the intake center, but something inside him wouldn’t let go of the image, Anna looking back over her shoulder, Joelle clutching the stuffed rabbit like it held the last thread of her world together.