A woman in a gray suit walked into my room at eight o’clock the next morning.

She carried a thick manila folder and a stack of glossy pamphlets.

Her plastic name badge read Evelyn, State Department of Family Services.

Evelyn pulled up the vinyl visitor chair and sat down next to my bed.

“The hospital social worker transferred your case to me an hour ago,” Evelyn said.

She arranged three pamphlets on my tray table in a neat row.

“The state has emergency custody protocols for minors who need immediate critical care.”