On the thirtieth day, Dr. Lawson came in smiling: the cancer was in remission, and I was moving to outpatient care.

But the joy died fast. Susan arrived with a thick folder to discuss my transfer to a group foster home on the other side of the county.

Laura stood by the window. She’d just finished a twelve-hour shift and looked exhausted, but her posture was rigid.

“She’s not going to a group home,” she said, her voice cutting the room like a scalpel.

Susan blinked. “Laura, you know the protocols. The state has to—”

“I’m a state-approved foster parent,” Laura interrupted, stepping forward. She looked right at me, her eyes fierce and protective. “I have the medical training for her outpatient care. I have an empty guest room. And I want her.”