Ms. Higgins stepped into our small apartment, her eyes scanning the worn carpet, the peeling paint on the ceiling, and the mismatched furniture with clinical detachment. Every click of her pen against her clipboard sounded like a judge’s gavel.
“The report stated that the infant is residing in a closet,” Ms. Higgins noted, not making eye contact as she walked toward the hallway.
“It’s a walk-in,” I said, my voice tight, trying to mask the rising panic. “We converted it. It’s draft-free and close to our rooms.”
I led her to the nursery. Chloe was sitting in a rocking chair we had found on the side of the road and sanitized. She was feeding Lily a bottle, her face pale but determined. Ms. Higgins inspected the sleeping space, checked the temperature of the room, and demanded to see our supply of formula and diapers. She grilled Chloe on her medical aftercare and questioned me extensively about our household income.
I showed her my pay stubs from the diner and the cleaning company. I showed her Ethan’s pay stubs. I laid our poverty bare on the kitchen table, a humiliating display of our desperate survival.
“It’s tight, Mrs. Miller,” Ms. Higgins said finally, adjusting her glasses. “Financially, this is a highly precarious situation for a premature infant with potential respiratory issues.”
“We are providing for her,” Chloe spoke up, her voice surprisingly strong. The golden child of Oakridge had learned how to fight. “She has a clean bed, she has her specialized food, and she has her medical follow-ups scheduled at the free clinic. She is loved. Being poor isn’t a crime, Ms. Higgins.”
The social worker looked at Chloe, perhaps recognizing the Harrington facial features beneath the exhaustion. She sighed, a small crack in her professional armor.
“The environment is safe for now. But I am keeping this case open. I will be doing unannounced follow-up visits. If the electricity is shut off, or if the infant misses a single medical appointment, I will have no choice but to remove her. Good day.”
When the door clicked shut, Chloe burst into tears, the adrenaline leaving her body in a rush. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly. We had survived the battle, but the siege was ongoing. Eleanor was using her vast resources to try and crush us, hoping we would break and hand the baby over in defeat.
