Relief didn’t wash over Austin’s face; instead, his hazel eyes went wide with a deep, frightening confusion that ripped my heart to pieces.

“But yesterday Dad looked me right in the eyes and said you wanted this too, Mom,” he whispered, looking up at his father with crushing disappointment.

In that quiet kitchen, surrounded by dirty bottles and unwashed baby clothes, I understood that my sweet nine-year-old had spent the past several days getting ready to be thrown out by the only family he had ever known.

Part 2: The Notebook in His Backpack