The home assessment happened the next morning.
Wade had slept three hours.
That was apparently enough for him to decide the entire house was unsuitable for human habitation.
When Denise and a child-services assessor named Marla Jensen arrived, they found him replacing an outlet cover in the hallway.
Marla glanced at the screwdriver.
“Was there something wrong with it?”
“No.”
“Then why are you changing it?”
“The old one looked loose.”
Denise leaned toward Marla.
“He’s been like this since six.”
Wade ignored them.
His house sat on a quiet street about fifteen minutes from the hospital. It was a modest two-story place with a detached garage, a narrow yard, and a porch Wade had rebuilt himself.
Rachel stood near the living-room window.
She had not wanted to come.
Then she had changed her mind after Denise explained that her input mattered if Samuel might live there.
Nothing about the house looked familiar at first.
Wade had moved after Laura died.
Still, pieces of Rachel’s childhood were everywhere once she knew how to see them.
Her mother’s ceramic bowl sat near the front door.
A wooden clock Rachel remembered from their old kitchen hung above the dining-room entrance.
On the mantle was a photograph of Laura laughing on a windy beach.
Rachel walked toward it.
Wade noticed.
“I kept most of her things.”
“So I see.”
He waited for accusation.
None came.
Marla inspected smoke detectors, stair rails, windows, water temperature, electrical outlets, and sleeping arrangements.
“Where would Samuel sleep?”
Wade led them upstairs.
The smallest bedroom had been emptied except for a dresser and an unopened crib box leaning against one wall.
Rachel stopped.
“You bought a crib?”
“Yesterday.”
“When?”
“After the hospital.”
“You don’t even know if they’ll approve you.”
“I kept the receipt.”
Rachel stared.
Marla smiled slightly and wrote something on her clipboard.
“There’s space,” she said. “But the crib needs assembly and we’ll need the room fully prepared before discharge.”
“It will be.”
“Car seat?”
“Bought one.”
Rachel turned.
“You did?”
“Receipt too.”
“You think receipts make this less insane?”
“No. They make returns easier.”
Denise coughed to hide a laugh.
The inspection continued.
Medication storage.
Cleaning supplies.
Fire extinguisher.
Emergency contacts.
At one point Marla asked Wade who could help him if Samuel had to be taken to an appointment while Wade was working.
“My shop manager, Carl.”
“Is Carl trained to care for a premature infant?”
“No.”
“Then he isn’t your childcare plan.”
Wade nodded.
“My sister.”
Rachel looked up.
“You still talk to Aunt Beth?”
“Yes.”
“She hated me.”
“No, she didn’t.”
“She called me selfish.”
“Once.”
“That was enough.”
Wade sighed.
“We’re not using Beth unless you want to.”
Marla looked between them.
“You need more than one dependable adult.”
“I can hire someone.”
“That may become part of the plan.”
Rachel’s discomfort increased with every solution built around Wade.
Finally she said, “What if I’m here?”
Everyone looked at her.
Rachel immediately regretted speaking.
Marla asked, “Do you mean living here?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Okay.”
“I mean if I’m involved.”
“Then your involvement would be considered.”
Rachel crossed her arms.
Wade said nothing.
She appreciated that more than she wanted to.
After the formal assessment, Denise and Marla went downstairs to complete paperwork.
Rachel remained in the hallway.
There were three bedrooms.
Samuel’s proposed room.
Wade’s room.
And a closed door at the far end.
“What’s in there?”
Wade glanced at it.
“Storage.”
Rachel started walking toward it.
Wade stiffened.
“Rachel.”
That made her stop.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You just said my name like I was walking toward a land mine.”
“It’s cluttered.”
“I survived your garage when I was twelve.”
“That was different.”
Rachel opened the door.
The room was not storage.
Not really.
There were boxes, yes.
But they were organized along one wall.
A narrow bed stood near the window.
On the dresser sat a faded photograph of Rachel at age fifteen wearing a ridiculous paper crown on her birthday.
She stared.
A bookshelf held novels she remembered owning.
Her old softball glove lay on the top shelf.
A chipped music box from her childhood sat beside it.
Rachel walked slowly inside.
“What is this?”
Wade remained in the doorway.
“Things I kept.”
“All my things?”
“Most.”
She opened one box.
School photographs.
A drawing from elementary school.
A report card.
Movie-ticket stubs.
Rachel looked at him.
“Why?”
Wade seemed genuinely confused.
“Why wouldn't I?”
“You moved.”
“Yes.”
“You boxed up everything.”
“Yes.”
“And brought it here.”
“Yes.”
Rachel shook her head.
“I thought you threw it away.”
“I told you before. I didn't.”
Her attention shifted toward a large plastic storage container under the window.
The lid was not fully closed.
Inside were envelopes.
Hundreds.
Rachel crouched.
“What are these?”
Wade crossed the room quickly.
“Those are nothing you need to—”
Rachel pulled one out.
Her name was on it.
Rachel Ellis.
The address was one she had used almost fifteen years earlier.
The envelope was stamped RETURN TO SENDER.
She pulled out another.
And another.
Different years.
Different cities.
Same handwriting.
Wade stood behind her.
“I mailed those.”
“There must be hundreds.”
“Not hundreds.”
She looked at him.
He corrected himself.
“Maybe a hundred.”
Rachel sat on the floor.
Some envelopes were unopened returns.
Others had no stamps.
She picked one up.
“This one wasn’t mailed.”
Wade said nothing.
“Why?”
“I didn't know where you were that year.”
Rachel opened it.
He did not stop her.
The letter was dated on her twenty-eighth birthday.
The handwriting was rougher than the address on the envelope.
Rachel read silently.
It was not eloquent.
Wade wrote that he hoped she was safe. He told her the dog from the shop had finally died at sixteen and that he had buried him beneath the maple tree. He said he had started closing the shop on Sundays because Laura had always asked him to.
Then came one line Rachel read twice.
If you ever decide to come home, you will not owe me an explanation before I open the door.
Rachel lowered the letter.
“You never said this when we talked.”
“I learned it too late.”
“Why didn’t you find another way?”
“I tried.”
“Not hard enough.”
“No.”
The immediate agreement angered her.
“Stop doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Agreeing with every terrible thing I say.”
“I agree when it’s true.”
Rachel stood.
“You make it impossible to fight with you.”
“I thought that was progress.”
“It’s infuriating.”
Wade almost smiled.
She shoved the letter against his chest.
“I needed you.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Her voice cracked.
“I was eighteen and sleeping on somebody’s couch and waiting for you to appear.”
Wade’s face went pale.
“I went to the apartment you gave me.”
“Three months later.”
“I didn't know where you were.”
“You could have asked more people.”
“I did.”
“You could have called every day.”
“I did for a while.”
“For a while.”
The words struck.
Wade looked at the floor.
Rachel wiped tears from her face.
“And then I got proud too.”
That was harder to admit.
“I saw some of your letters.”
Wade looked up.
“I read them and waited to see whether you'd send another.”
“I always did.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because after enough time, answering felt impossible.”
Wade understood immediately.
Each month of silence made the next month harder to break.
Then each year.
Then twenty-two of them.
Rachel sank onto the bed.
“I thought if I called, you would ask why I waited.”
“I might have.”
“That’s exactly why.”
“I was worse at being human back then.”
She laughed through her tears.
“You're still not great.”
“Working on it.”
They sat in silence.
Finally Rachel asked, “Why is there a bed?”
Wade looked around.
“I always kept a room.”
“For me?”
“For the possibility.”
Rachel’s face tightened again.
Before either could speak, Denise called from downstairs.
“We need both of you.”
They found Marla holding her phone.
Her expression was serious but not alarmed.
“The home itself is appropriate pending a few changes,” she said.
Wade exhaled.
Rachel asked, “So Samuel can come here?”
“If medical discharge occurs before a permanent custody determination, we can recommend temporary kinship placement with Wade.”
Rachel closed her eyes.
Marla continued.
“But there will be conditions.”
“Anything,” Wade said.
“Training for premature-infant care. Follow-up medical appointments. Home visits. No unsupervised transfer of care to anyone not approved.”
“Fine.”
“And Rachel’s role needs to be clarified.”
Rachel opened her eyes.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you may visit and participate. Depending on the safety plan, you may potentially stay here as well.”
Rachel glanced toward Wade.
He said nothing.
Marla looked at her.
“Would you want that?”
Rachel thought about the letters upstairs.
The preserved photograph.
The unopened crib.
The man who had spent a night holding Samuel before knowing who he was.
“I don’t know.”
Marla nodded.
“That remains an acceptable answer.”
Then Denise’s phone rang.
She stepped away.
When she returned, her face had changed.
Rachel knew immediately.
“The test?”
Denise nodded.
“Preliminary paternity results came back.”
Wade stepped closer.
“And?”
Denise looked at Rachel.
“Daniel Price is Samuel’s biological father.”
Rachel’s eyes closed.
The room went quiet.
Denise continued.
“And Daniel has just informed child services that he intends to petition for custody.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: Daniel’s Custody Petition Forced Rachel to Choose Between Hiding Her Worst Days and Letting Strangers Examine Every Mistake She Had Made
The Stranger in the Leather Vest Asked About the One Infant Everyone Else Had Quietly Learned Not to Mention
Part 7 of 10
