was simply gone, and everyone expected me to become a man at twelve because somebody had to.
I had built an empire partly because I never wanted to need anyone again.
And then two five-year-olds had sat under fluorescent lights at Gate 17 and undone me with silence.
“Elise,” I said, still facing the city, “what happens next?”
“Temporary placement. Investigation. A shelter hearing. The court decides whether the children can return to Claire, go to relatives, or remain in care while things are sorted.”
“And if no relatives are suitable?”
“Then longer-term foster placement, guardianship possibilities, eventually other options.”
“Could I—”
“No.”
I turned.
She held up a hand. “Not no forever. No to whatever reckless thought just crossed your face. You are not a relative. You have no relationship with the children beyond today. You travel constantly. You live alone. Your public reputation is complicated. Your private reputation
