“You’re working full-time?”
“Sometimes more than full-time.”
“And you left college.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I glanced at Vicky.
“Because somebody had to stay.”
The judge studied me.
“You understand that caring for a child is not simply a matter of love.”
“I know.”
“There are medical decisions. School. Housing. Financial management.”
“I know.”
“You’re nineteen years old.”
“I know.”
My voice cracked.
I swallowed.
“But I’ve been packing Vicky’s lunches since Mom died. I get her to school. I know she hates tomatoes but tells people she likes them because Mom liked them. I know she sleeps with the hallway light on now.”
Vicky looked down.
“I know she still has nightmares about smoke.”
Nobody moved.
“I know she keeps one of Dad’s shirts under her pillow because it still smells like him.”
My eyes burned.
“And I know I’m not ready.”
That caught the judge’s attention.
I took a breath.
