The meeting with child protective services loomed like a dark cloud.
My heart pounded as I walked into the room, the air thick with unspoken fears.
The caseworker’s expression was unreadable, a practiced neutrality that offered little comfort.
“Thank you for coming in,” they began, voice calm and measured.
I nodded, words sticking in my throat.
“We understand this is a difficult situation.”
The understatement felt almost cruel.
“We need to establish a clear picture of what’s happening at home.”
I could only nod again, the enormity of the task settling heavily on my shoulders.
In the corner, a clock ticked away the seconds, each one echoing like a heartbeat in the silence.
