“Why can't I just stay?”
The support worker waited until Rosie had calmed enough to listen.
“Because we need to make sure everything is ready for you. That takes time. But today is a good step.”
Rosie looked at her suspiciously.
“Are you going to take me away again?”
The woman shook her head.
“I'm here to help make sure you have the support you need.”
Rosie looked at Walter.
“Will Grandpa come next time?”
“Yes,” Walter said. “And Grandma.”
“Promise?”
He took her hand.
“I promise we'll keep doing everything we can to see you.”
Rosie considered that.
Then she leaned against his shoulder.
When the visit ended, she hugged them both and carried the knitted rabbit back to the county vehicle.
She was still crying when the car pulled away.
But this time, Walter knew she would return.
He stood beside Evelyn in the doorway, watching the vehicle disappear around the corner.
Evelyn wiped her eyes.
“Four hours.”
Walter nodded.
“Four hours.”
She leaned against him.
“It felt like a lifetime.”
He looked toward the spare bedroom.
For the first time, the room did not feel like an empty promise.
It felt like a place where a child had been happy.
And that was enough to keep them going.
Hope, Vincent discovered, could make people reckless.
After the successful home visit, the Harpers began talking openly about the possibility of Rosie returning to live with them.
Walter bought a secondhand bicycle helmet.
Evelyn started collecting recipes for school lunches.
They discussed whether the apartment would need a larger dining table and whether Walter should reduce his repair work further.
Their excitement was understandable.
It was also premature.
The independent assessment identified several concerns.
The apartment was suitable, but the family had limited savings. Walter's pension was modest, and Evelyn's arthritis could worsen over time. The support plan was promising, but they would need reliable backup care in the event of illness.
The assessment did not recommend rejecting the Harpers.
It recommended additional planning before a permanent placement.
When Margaret explained this, Walter looked devastated.
“We've done everything they asked.”
“Yes,” she said. “And you've made real progress.”
“Then what more do they want?”
“They want to know what happens if you become ill, if the car breaks down, or if Rosie needs care you cannot provide alone.”
Walter stared at her.
“We're not asking to do everything alone.”
“Then we need to demonstrate that the support is in place.”
Evelyn took his hand.
“We can do that.”
Walter shook his head.
“How long does everything have to take?”
Margaret did not pretend to know.
“I wish I could give you a date.”
After the meeting, Walter walked alone through the neighborhood.
He stopped outside a small park where children were playing in the snow.
A boy in a blue coat fell while trying to climb a mound. His father helped him up, brushed the snow from his sleeves, and sent him running back toward the other children.
Walter watched them.
He remembered taking Rosie to the park when she was four. She had insisted on climbing a ladder far too tall for her, then demanded that he stand at the bottom and promise not to catch her unless she asked.
He had obeyed.
She had climbed halfway up before becoming frightened.
“Grandpa!”
He had lifted her down.
She had hugged him, then immediately announced that she wanted to try again.
Walter smiled at the memory.
Then the smile faded.
He was seventy-four.
His hands were not as steady as they had once been. His knees hurt when the weather changed. He could not run as fast as a child, and he sometimes forgot where he had placed his reading glasses.
Perhaps the department was right to ask questions.
Perhaps love was not enough.
The thought frightened him more than any letter could.
When he returned to Maple Street, Evelyn was waiting at the kitchen table.
“Margaret called,” she said. “The housing counselor has found us a family support program. They can provide backup care and help with school transportation.”
Walter sat down.
“That helps.”
“Yes.”
He stared at the table.
“What if it still isn't enough?”
Evelyn reached across and took his hand.
“Then we'll find out what else we need.”
“And if they say no?”
She held his gaze.
“Then we'll keep loving Rosie.”
Walter's eyes filled.
“I don't want to lose her.”
“I know.”
He bent his head.
For months, he had imagined that the only obstacle between him and his granddaughter was a system that did not understand him.
Now he was beginning to understand that the system's questions were not entirely unreasonable.
A child needed more than devotion.
She needed adults who could admit their limits and build a life around them.
That evening, Walter called Vincent.
“I think I'm afraid,” he said.
Vincent listened without interrupting.
“Of what?”
“Of finding out that I can't give Rosie what she needs.”
Vincent sat quietly in his office.
Then he said, “Being afraid doesn't mean you're failing her.”
“What if I'm too old?”
“Then you make sure she has help.”
“What if I can't do it?”
“Then you ask somebody who can.”
Walter was silent.
Vincent continued.
“You don't have to prove you're invincible, Walter. You just have to be honest about what you can do and make a plan for the rest.”
Walter swallowed.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It isn't.”
“Then how do you know what to do?”
Vincent looked at the wooden toy truck in his desk drawer.
“You start by admitting what you're afraid of.”