Traded For His First Love
There was fear there, the same I felt, and somehow, that comforted me.
Sammy went in first, accompanied by a kind-faced social worker. He looked small in his blue blazer, his hair neatly combed, but his brown eyes, so like mine, shone with a determination that made me hold my breath. The judge, a middle-aged man with thin-framed glasses, smiled at him, his voice gentle. “Sammy, can you tell me what you think about living with your mommy and daddy? There’s no wrong answer, okay?”
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