The pages were packed with numbers and crossed-out figures.

I was glad I had held on to it.

We hadn’t gotten away from hard choices, but we had learned to make them out in the open, with help whenever we needed it.

I carried the notebook over to my desk and set it next to the folder of school reports and therapy appointments.

Those piles of paper told a quieter story than any court document could.

They showed a child who had been listened to, cared for, taught, and given time.