When You Were Mine

“Yes, but it’s just an assessment. And Emma’s clever enough to know how to answer those things, I’m sure.”

Nick is silent for a moment as we lie on our backs, staring at the ceiling. “Do you think she still wants to kill herself?” he asks, and he sounds so sad, I have an urge to comfort him, along with everyone else. Why are we all hurting so much? Why is our world so broken, when we’ve been so blessed?

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” I consider my answer, as if testing its weight, and then decide it will hold. “She seems more tired than sad now.”

“Still.”

“Do you want me to sleep in her room with her?”

“No. She wouldn’t like that.” He sighs. “Tomorrow we’ll all talk.”

He says it like a promise, but I already worry it’s one we won’t be able to keep.

25

BETH

I am furious as I walk away from the Fieldings’ house—furious that their lives are such a mess, and furious that I have to leave my son with them. I am full of righteous intentions to call Susan and rat them out, but I don’t even reach for my phone before I know I won’t do that. I can’t.

Because one thing I know after rattling around in the social care system for the last six weeks is that kids don’t just get magicked back to their mothers. If Susan decides the Fieldings can’t take care of Dylan, she’ll just shunt him to somebody else. At least now I know where he is, and I believe he’s safe, no matter what problems the family is facing. He’s also only a ten-minute walk from my apartment. Who knows how far away the next foster family might be?

But I’m still frustrated and angry, and I can’t keep from feeling that something is inherently wrong with the way things are, with the whole world, that Ally Fielding’s daughter can try to kill herself and DCF doesn’t get involved, but my son has a tantrum in CVS and my whole world falls apart.

Still, there’s nothing I can do about any of it, and

being angry doesn’t help. I have six more weeks before the court hearing, or around that. The date hasn’t been set yet, but Susan said it would be in the next few weeks. And meanwhile I need to keep doing everything right, no matter who else does wrong. I can’t let my focus slip.

And lots of things are going right, or nearly—the Triple P course isn’t terrible, now that we’ve moved onto potential challenges. This week’s class is on setting boundaries, something I realize I have both done too much and not nearly enough of. Margaret must sense my disquiet because in the middle of the class, when Angelica is sneaking glances at her phone and Diane has started with her restless fidgeting, she asks me what I’m thinking about.

“What I’m thinking…” I’m startled and a bit alarmed by the open-ended question. I open my mouth to say “nothing much,” but then I decide to be honest. This class has become less about ticking boxes and more about actually learning stuff, funnily enough. “I was thinking about how I’ve set Dylan too many boundaries but also not enough of them.” I let out an apologetic huff of laughter. “I know that doesn’t make sense.”

Margaret props her chin on her hand, giving me her undivided focus. “Tell me more. What do you mean about too many boundaries?”

I pause, feeling my way through my tangle of thoughts, emerging with words. “From the moment—the very second—he was born, I loved him so much. I’d just stare at him, watch him breathe.” Margaret smiles faintly and nods, and encouraged, I continue. “But I guess I was scared, too. There are so many possibilities. So many dangers.”

“You were worried something might happen to him?”

“Yes.” I swallow hard, remembering the fear that could keep me lying awake at night, eyes straining in the darkness, listening to Dylan breathe, always afraid that in the next moment he wouldn’t be. But every new mother feels that to some extent, surely? “Anything could happen, you know,” I tell Margaret. I glance at Angelica, who looks bored, and then at Diane, who is frowning as if she can’t relate to what I’m saying at all. “You hear things… read stories…” I shrug and spread my hands. “I felt as if I was always scared, even as I was so happy to have him. And then, when he was older, and he started having behavior issues…”

“Anxiety, you mentioned?”

“Yes. And then it felt like I had to make so many boundaries, because he couldn’t handle stuff. Crowds. Stores. School.” Margaret frowns, nodding for me to continue. “But at the same time maybe I didn’t give him enough boundaries—I allowed him to have these tantrums, and I shaped our lives around them, creating this routine that felt like it worked—but maybe it didn’t.” I shake my head. I’m pretty sure I’m not making sense. I’m not even sure what I’m saying.

“Boundaries are important for children,” Margaret says, looking around to include all three of us. “Because they give them a sense of safety and security children need to be able to explore their world and venture outside of their comfort zones. So you’re right, Beth, in that boundaries can be about too much and not enough. You want your child to be safe, but also to explore.”

I’m not sure if I was saying that or not, but I smile and nod as if I was. Does Dylan feel safe with me? Does he want to explore in a way I’ve never let him? Have I been holding him back?

Margaret has moved the conversation on, trying to engage Angelica, and that is fine by me. These questions feel necessary to ask, but I still don’t know if I’m strong enough to answer them. Admitting as much as I did feels like enough for today.

“So when do you think you’ll get Dylan back?” Diane asks as she drives me home. It’s the beginning of December, and everything is gray. I long for snow—big downy flakes covering everything, softening the hard edges, blanketing the world in white.

“I have a court hearing sometime in January. I’m really hoping it’s then.” She nods slowly, her expression rather grim as she stares out at the highway. “What about you?” I ask, even though I know it’s a loaded question.

“It was a voluntary placement, and they can last no longer than thirty days.”

I am surprised; it’s been over a month since we’ve started the course. “So…”

“He’s with my parents, in Canton. He’s been there for the last ten days, but they’re coming to the end of their rope.” She exhales heavily. “I don’t know what to do. I know I should have him back, of course I should. I adopted him. He’s as good as my biological child, and yet…” She bites her lip. “You just have no idea. No idea.”