foster care

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If not me, then who?

FOR THE MUDROOM I cradle her on my chest, her little hand resting on my neck. She’s so little for her age but she fits perfectly against me. I know my days with her are numbered as we have been told she will be going to live with her father— father she has never known and who has only met her a couple of times. I keep kissing her and taking deep breaths of her curly hair thinking I can...