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.

peace.

It was something harder.

Discipline.

The visits continued.

Thirty minutes became one hour.

One hour became two.

Always supervised.

Always documented.

Always surrounded by the fragile awkwardness of adults trying to turn regret into something useful.

People had opinions.

Of course they did.

Nothing brings out certainty in human beings like someone else’s continue reading …