I nearly dialed 911 on the tattooed teenager holding a screaming baby inside an empty 1 AM laundromat. Then his bag tore open, and my stomach sank with utter shame.

rubbed both hands over his face.

“She’s going to take her.”

“No one is taking Emma tonight.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No,” I said. “I don’t.”

He looked at me, startled.

I could have lied.

I wanted to.

I wanted to tell him no judge, no official, no person with eyes and a soul would ever separate him from that child.

But I had lived long enough to know that love continue reading …