My boyfriend and his Dad: forbidden and Deadly

I am standing by the narrow window of my boss Ruth’s office. One hand braces against the cool pane while the other lifts a bottle of water to my lips. I keep downing it, hoping it may slow my racing heart, but it doesn’t. Water can’t soften the reality waiting on the other side of this door.

In a few minutes, I’d have to sit across from Amber, mother of two tiny twins, and tell her that Child Protective Services has run out of chances, out of patience, and out of hope for improvement. Hazel and Saige, only three years old, are about to be taken from the only home they’d ever known, messy and unsafe as it is. And I am the one who has to break the news.

I love those girls. Everyone in the office knows it. I have been monitoring them since they were one, checking in every few weeks, documenting everything from diaper rash to empty cabinets to Amber passing out on the couch while the twins play with broken toys on sticky floors.

Amber has been warned more times than I can count and offered rehab, support programs, and parenting classes. I always promised improvement. It never lasted. And today is the time Amber has to face the consequences.

She doesn’t even know who the father is. Or maybe she once did but forgot, burying it under pills and powder and whatever else she could get ahold of. I try not to judge—God knows I lived through my own childhood chaos, but Hazel and Saige deserve better than waiting around for their mom to maybe get clean someday.

I press my forehead lightly to the bottle and exhale, long and shaky. I have only been in this job for two years, joining right after I turned nineteen. Twenty-one feels young for responsibility like this, like I am too new to be delivering heartbreak that can rearrange someone’s entire world. But someone has to. And today, it is me.

I don’t know anything about my biological parents—not a name, where they belong, nothing. My earliest memories are cold nights and crying alone in bed, then a blur of foster homes until I finally landed somewhere safe. The family... actually my family, who keeps me feeling like a miracle, and I’d clung to it. Sierra, my foster sister, became my anchor, part friend, part sibling, and part co-conspirator against the world. We shared secrets, clothes, and late-night microwave pizza. Leaving at eighteen had been hard, even if it was normal. But I wanted independence just like Sierra. She left home four years before me, and now she is twenty-five and works in a chemical lab.

I always wanted a purpose in my life, and maybe helping kids like me had been the only path that made sense to me.

A sharp sound behind me broke through my thoughts— someone clearing her throat. I turn. My boss stands in a doorway, expression tight but sympathetic.

“Amber is here with girls,” she says quietly. “It’s time,” and hands me a manila folder.

I nod, throat tight but steady. I set the bottle down, smooth my shirt, and take the folder. I force my feet forward. The hallway suddenly feels too long, too bright, and too loud. But I walk it anyway.

Because Hazel and Saige need me to. Even if Amber hates me for it.

I approach my cubicle slowly, steadying myself with one deep breath after another. I can already hear their voices before I turn the corner.

“Saige! Hazel! Get your damn hands off that.” Amber snaps, grabbing a stack of papers from Saige’s tiny fist. Hazel reaches for a pen, and Amber slaps her hand away...not hard, but sharp enough to make Hazel freeze. “Jesus, you two never listen. Sit. Down.”

The girls whimper, standing too close to the edge of my cubicle, wide-eyed like they have learned silence is safer.

I clear my throat, not too loud, just enough to break the tension. Amber looks up, her jaw tight. The girls turn next, and I force the biggest, warmest smile I can manage.

“Hey, Hazel. “Hey, Saige.” I kneel slightly, just enough to meet their eyes, each reflecting the color of their names.

Both giggle and go back to their mom. I look at Amber.

“Thanks for coming.”

Amber offers a thin smile, barely there.

“Next time, maybe give me at least a day’s notice for a meeting like this, yeah?”

I press my lips together, biting back the thought that snaps through my head. Yeah, so you can sober up first. I don’t say it out loud. But I think it’s clear as glass.

Instead, I exhale and try to calm myself.

“Amber, you probably should have popped some mints before coming in. I can smell beer from here.”

Amber stiffens.

“I just...”

I don’t argue. I simply hand her the folder. Her fingers shake slightly as I speak.

“I am so sorry to inform you that we are taking Hazel and Saige from you because...”

Amber doesn’t wait for me to finish. She flips open the folder, eyes skimming the first few lines, and then tears come. Quiet at first, then full, hot streams rolling down her cheeks. She looks like she’d been punched.

I feel it in my chest--- the exact fucking moment I’d been dreading.

Amber opens her mouth, but I raise a hand, gentle but firm.

“Amber...locking the girls inside that house and disappearing for the whole day? You left two toddlers alone. Nobody can ignore that.”

“I know,” Amber sobs, wiping her face with the back of her wrist.

“I know, I messed up, but Nikki...I have no choice...”

I cut her off because I’d heard that sentence too many damn times.

“You had a choice. You always had a choice. You chose drugs. You left them while you were passed out under a bridge

Amber cries harder, voice breaking.

“Please...just one last week. I swear...if anyone has one single complaint, I’ll hand them over myself. No fighting, no excuses. Just...one chance. Please. Nikki, please.”

The room feels tight. Too small for decisions this heavy. My heart is thudding hard, painfully human. After what feels like forever, after too much begging and too many tears, I finally inhale deeply and nod--- almost hating myself for it.

“One week.”

I look at her with sharp eyes.

“And I’ll be checking in personally. No slip-ups, Amber. None.”

Amber hugs her girls and leaves with them... against policy, against paperwork, against everything I am supposed to do.

And then I stand up and go to Ruth’s office to talk.

Ruth stares at me from across her table.

“You went against protocol.”

“I know.”

I keep my voice steady.

“I’ll take responsibility. I’ll check on them myself...every week.”

Ruth sighs, then nods once.

“Then it’s on your shoulders.”

I nod and walk out feeling like my spine is made of glass. My phone buzzes in my hand—Ricky’s message flashes: After work, come over tonight, babe.

I sigh. Fuck, he calls me babe. It means something is wrong. But before I can even respond, the screen starts flashing Sierra’s name.

I exhale and pick up the call.

“Yeah, Sierra.”