Years ago, the heavy iron gates of the St. Jude's Home for Children had groaned open for him with a sound like a death bell. Hansen had stood on the cracked sidewalk, a single, fraying duffel bag clutched in his hand, his knuckles white against the strap. He hadn't looked at the social worker standing beside him with a clipboard and a pitying smile. Instead, he had looked back at the narrow, barred window on the third floor.
He knew Amara was there. He knew her small face was pressed against the cold glass, her breath fogging the pane as she watched the only piece of family she had left walk away. Their "together forever" had been severed by a legal document and the cold reality of the system.
