"Is there somewhere we can talk?" She glances to my front door.
No fucking way I’m taking her back inside when I know Sarah’s in there. "This is fine," I respond, crossing my arms over my chest.
"Well, okay, then." She pulls a manila file folder out of her briefcase and hands it to me. "Your daughter is currently in the care of Social Services in the state of Texas. I was asked to come here to inform you of this fact. To gain custody of your child, you must return to Texas and fill out the appropriate paperwork. It’s quite simple, actually."
"What? Where’s Amy?"
"I’m very sorry to inform you, but Amy Avila passed away last week, Mr. James."
"Wait. Amy’s gone? What the fuck happened?" I choke out around the lump in my throat.
"Heroin," she answers with the shake of her head.
Bile creeps up into my throat. "Amy?" I ask again for clarification, because this can’t be happening.
She silently nods a confirmation.
"No, there must be some confusion. She wasn’t into drugs. I was a fucking DEA agent. I’m sorry, Mrs. Price, but something’s not right here. She would never have touched that shit. She knew better." I start to become irate when nothing adds up the way it should.
"Things change, Mr. James. People change," she answers, but it does nothing to remove the five hundred pounds that have taken up residence on my chest.
"Oh. Fuck." I feel sick and have to throw an arm against the wall to remain on my feet. "Jesus Christ."
"I’m sure this is shocking, but I’m going to urge you to stay focused on Liv. We attempted to place her with Amy’s parents in the interim, but they only agreed to take her on a very temporary basis, ending tomorrow. They gave us your name and asked that we reach out to you, as her father, for a more permanent situation for Liv. It seems they haven’t had much contact with her, nor are they in any position to care for a young child."
Foggy memories of the many altercations I had with the Avilas flash into my thoughts. At the forefront of my mind is the verbal abuse they passed out like lollipops when Amy was growing up.
"She shouldn’t be with them. The Avilas are fucked-up people," I manage to grit out through clenched teeth.
"While I haven’t met them personally, judging by the urgency in which Texas sent me to find you, I assume they would agree with that assessment."
"Wait, where’s Max?"
"According to the paperwork, Max Young hasn’t seen Liv since he was removed from the birth certificate four years ago—the very same time you were added."
"Fuck," I mumble as my racing mind tries to sort out all of the details. "What am I supposed to do?" I plead for guidance. I know there is only one option, but I can’t seem to wrap my mind around it.
"You need to go to Texas as soon as possible. The Avilas will be turning Liv over to Social Services tomorrow. You should be there or she will be placed into foster care."
"How am I supposed to do this?" My hands begin to nervously twitch at the very idea of taking on something this big.
"She’s lost her mother and has been left in the care of virtual strangers. She could use a parent right now."
"I’m a stranger!" I yell at the entire fucking cruel world. "I’ve never even seen her," I choke out.
"Well, there has never been a better time than the present to change that."
"No!" I yell. "You don’t understand. She deserves better than me. She deserves parents who can offer her a stable life. I can’t give her that. I have nothing to offer her."
"Mr. James. I’m going to be very candid with you here. I don’t know much about this case except what was faxed over to me this morning. So let me just state the facts. Her mother was addicted to heroin and ended up dying because of it. She has two grandparents who acted like it was a burden on them to even keep her for a week. She is on her way to foster care, which, in some cases, works out well and in others, not so much. I have no idea what her life has been like, but I’m relatively sure you and your wife can give her better."
My wife? Oh my God. Sarah. I haven’t even stopped to think about how this is going to affect her.
"I’m not saying you have to take her, but you need to contact Texas regardless. The numbers are in that folder. Please don’t hesitate to contact me if you have any further questions." She gives me a tight smile and heads toward the elevator.
I lean against the wall for a moment longer, unable to trust my shaking legs.
Amy’s gone. My child is with her borderline-abusive parents. Either I have to claim custody or she will be placed in a foster home.
What the fucking hell is going on right now?
This can’t be my life.
Yet, somehow, it is.
I make my way to my front door, desperate to find something—or, preferably, someone—who can make sense of the questions overwhelming my mind.
I barely even make it through the door before the chaos continues.