Your Children Are Not Luggage
People lie with their mouths first. Paper catches up later.
I picked up the envelope. Mason flinched — not from me, from the movement.
That made me hate my own son in a way I hadn’t known was possible.
Inside were photocopied forms. Not official enough to be final. Too organized to be casual. Placement notes. A printed paragraph about temporary guardianship.
A page where Lily’s name had been shortened to an initial, as if even her name had become too much trouble to write.
And a line about voluntary family respite due to behavioral instability.