My chest
ached so badly I could hardly breathe.
“Oh, sweetheart.” I cupped his face in both hands. “You are not getting rid of me that easily.”
He threw his arms around my neck and held on, and I held on right back. And I thought about how hard he’d fought for me while I couldn’t fight for myself. A nine-year-old boy in a hospital chair, keeping watch, refusing to leave, guarding the one person who had never let him go.
Now it was my turn to guard him.
A few days later, I sat in my attorney’s office with the video, the envelope, and the social worker’s notes.
“Lisa’s guardianship attempt is finished,” she told me. “No court is going to look at that footage and hand her anything.”
“And the trust?”
“Moved to independent management. She’ll never be able to touch it.”
