“The immediate safety plan is that Gracie does not return home tonight,” she said. “Given your cooperation and the circumstances, she can be discharged into your care, but Caroline cannot have unsupervised contact until further review.”
“Can we go to my mother’s?” I asked.
“That would be best, if your mother agrees.”
Mom stood from the chair. “Of course.”
Marisol looked at me. “This will take time. There may be interviews, temporary orders, and court involvement. I know that sounds overwhelming.”
I nodded.
It did sound overwhelming.
But not as overwhelming as taking Gracie back to a house where she had learned to whisper pain.
When Gracie woke, I told her we were going to Grandma’s.
She blinked slowly. “Is Mom coming?”
“No.”
Her face tensed.
I sat beside her. “You don’t have to decide how you feel about that tonight.”
“Is she mad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Are you mad?”
I inhaled. The easy answer was yes. A louder answer lived in my chest. But Gracie did not need my anger. She needed my steadiness.
“I’m sad,” I said. “And I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”
She studied me, then nodded as if that was an answer she could carry.
At my mother’s house, she gave Gracie my old bedroom, the one with blue walls and glow-in-the-dark stars still stuck to the ceiling from when I was twelve. Mom found soft pajamas in a drawer, made toast cut into triangles, and placed a night-light by the door.
Gracie stood in the middle of the room, uncertain.
“You can put Benny anywhere you want,” Mom said.
Gracie looked at the bed. “Can I sleep with Dad?”
Mom glanced at me.
“Of course,” I said.