The caseworker waited until Rosie had calmed enough to stand.
Then she led her toward the door.
Rosie looked back twice.
The second time, she raised one hand.
Walter raised his in return.
He did not know when he would see her again.
But as the SUV disappeared from the parking lot, he knew one thing with absolute certainty.
His granddaughter had not forgotten them.
And neither would he.
Daniel and Susan Whitmore were not cruel people.
That was the first thing Margaret discovered when she requested a meeting with them.
Daniel was a high school mathematics teacher. Susan worked as a registered nurse at a regional hospital. They had been married for sixteen years and had no biological children.
They had become foster parents after years of unsuccessful fertility treatment.
Rosie was the third child they had cared for.
The first had returned to a parent who completed a rehabilitation program. The second had been reunited with relatives in another state.
Both departures had been difficult.
Susan had cried for days after the second child left.
When Rosie arrived, she had been withdrawn, frightened, and prone to waking in the night. She rarely spoke about her mother, but she sometimes stood beside the bedroom window and watched the street as though she expected someone to appear.
Susan had learned to sit quietly with her.
She had learned which foods Rosie would eat, which bedtime stories made her smile, and how to distract her when thunderstorms frightened her.
Daniel had helped with homework and taught her how to ride a bicycle.
They cared about her.
They also wanted to adopt her.
When Margaret asked about the suspended visits, Susan looked uncomfortable.
“We didn't request that they be stopped,” she said.
“Did you tell the caseworker that Rosie became upset after visits?”
“Yes. She was upset when she returned to our home.”
“Did you say the visits caused the distress?”
“No. I said she cried afterward.”
Margaret made a note.
“What did Rosie say?”
“She wanted to go back to her grandparents.”
Susan's voice softened.
“She talked about them constantly. Sometimes she asked when they were coming to collect her. I didn't know what to tell her.”
“Did you explain that they were still trying to see her?”
“I told her they loved her.”
“Did you ever suggest that they had abandoned her?”
Susan looked shocked.
“Never.”
Daniel, sitting beside her, spoke for the first time.
“We thought the department was arranging everything. We assumed the grandparents were being assessed and that contact would resume when the caseworker decided it was appropriate.”
“Were you aware that they had been denied visits for six weeks?”
“We knew the visits had stopped. We weren't told why.”
Margaret studied them.
“Would you support regular contact between Rosie and her grandparents?”
Susan glanced at Daniel.
“Yes,” she said. “If it helps her, absolutely.”
“Would you support their application for custody?”
The room grew quiet.
Daniel looked down at his hands.
“We want to adopt Rosie,” he admitted. “We love her. We want to give her a permanent home.”
“I understand.”
“But we also know she had a family before she came to us. We don't want her to feel that loving us means she has to stop loving them.”
Susan wiped her eyes.
“She's already lost her mother. I don't want her to lose anyone else.”
Margaret closed her notebook.
For the first time, she began to suspect that the case might be more complicated than a contest between good people and bad ones.
The Harpers needed a stable home.
The Whitmores wanted to provide one.
Rosie needed security, continuity, and a chance to grieve without being asked to choose between the people she loved.
The real question was whether the adults could stop treating the situation as a decision that required one family to disappear.
That evening, Margaret met Vincent at his workshop.
“The foster parents seem decent,” she said. “They care about Rosie. They haven't asked for the grandparents to be excluded.”
“Then why did the visits stop?”
“Administrative failure, possibly. Poor communication. A decision made without enough documentation. I can't prove intent yet.”
Vincent nodded.
“What happens now?”
“We pursue regular visitation and continue the assessment of the Harpers' home. We also need to consider whether a gradual transition to their care would be appropriate.”
“Can the foster family help?”
“They might.”
Vincent looked toward the garage door.
“Then we need to make sure nobody turns this into a war.”
Margaret regarded him thoughtfully.
“That's an unusually sensible approach from someone with your reputation.”
“I've spent a lot of years fighting people.”
“And?”
“Most of the time, it just gives everybody more reasons to keep fighting.”
She smiled faintly.
“Perhaps you're finally learning.”
Vincent gave her a look.
“Don't make me regret hiring you.”
Margaret laughed.
Then she became serious again.
“There's something else. The department has scheduled a formal review for next week. Melissa Grant will be present, along with her supervisor.”
“Good.”
“I'd like the Harpers to bring every document they have relating to Rosie.”
“They will.”
“And I need you to stay out of the hearing unless the court specifically requests your presence.”
Vincent frowned.
“Why?”
“Because this case must be about Rosie, not the Iron Wolves.”
He considered that.
Then he nodded.
“All right.”
Margaret gathered her papers.
As she reached the door, Vincent called after her.
“Ms. Collins?”
She turned.
“Do you think they'll get her back?”
Margaret took a moment before answering.
“I think they have a meaningful relationship with Rosie. I think that relationship deserves serious consideration. And I think we have a chance to build a case that gives them more time with her.”