I slid it out. It was addressed to Richard and Patricia.

My eyes scanned the dense bureaucratic text. Avery’s mother hadn’t just gone to rehab; she’d relapsed, abandoned her halfway house, and was facing the termination of her parental rights.

But the most damning sentence was highlighted in yellow: Pending formal physical inspection of the proposed primary residence to ensure adequate, private, and permanent sleeping quarters for the minor child.

My god, I thought, the realization hitting me like a physical blow. They weren’t just being petty and entitled. They were staging the house. They needed an expansive, perfect bedroom to pass a CPS inspection, to gain permanent custody of Avery and secure the monthly state stipend that came with her.

Grace’s room, the largest in the house, was the target. They planned to erase my daughter to build a fraudulent set piece.

I folded the paper into my scrub pocket just as the flashing blue and red lights washed across the front windows.