I set the folder of receipts on the table, but my hand did not want to release it.
Five days. That was all they were giving me.
"Diane, tell me the truth. What are my chances in there?"
"Honestly? They are slim. The judge does not usually approve single applicants, especially young applicants with no parenting experience."
Before I could respond, the door opened, and Beverly, the senior caseworker, stepped inside with a clipboard.
"Carter, may I sit down?"
"Please."
She sat and folded her hands in the practiced manner that social workers often used.
I had seen that same posture across a desk many years earlier, and my stomach tightened before I could stop it.
"I want you to understand that I am not your enemy," she said quietly. "I have been doing this for 22 years. I have watched good, kind people take on more than they could handle, and I have watched children pay the price."
"I understand, Beverly. I really do."
"You have no spouse or co-guardian. You do not currently have medical coverage that extends to five dependents. You converted part of your workshop into living quarters, Carter. The court needs proof that it is a safe home for young children."
"I built solid oak bunk beds. I insulated the walls, installed smoke detectors, and had the electrical system inspected. I installed five car seats in the van last week. I also contacted a pediatrician on Elm Street, and she agreed to accept all five children as new patients."
Her expression remained unchanged, but something behind her eyes softened for a moment.
Then, she looked down at her clipboard.
"I would like to speak with Eli alone, if that is alright."
Diane nodded before I could answer.
A minute later, a court aide walked Eli into the room.
