The Little Girl Who Watched Like an Owl
Inside, the building smelled like disinfectant and crayons.
Children’s laughter echoed down the hallway.
Every sound felt too alive for someone like me.
A caseworker named Deirdre guided me through the process with a calm honesty that didn’t try to sell hope like a product.
Then we passed a window overlooking a small play area.
That’s where I saw her.
She wasn’t running.
She wasn’t calling for attention.
She sat slightly apart, dark hair tied back, a notebook resting on her lap.
Five years old, but watchful in a way that felt older than five.
