Finally Home

56. Samantha

A social worker came to talk to me. I was already annoyed and upset that I'd had a seizure at the airport and woke up in the hospital.

"Samantha, hi," she said. She seemed nice, but I've dealt with social workers before. I knew just to answer what they asked.

"Hi," I said. I'm not rude!

"So, Dr. Frank asked me to come talk with you and your family because he was worried about some injuries you've had."

I nodded.

"Can you tell me about your mom and dad?"

"Sure," I said. "If it weren't for them, I'd probably be dead by now."

"How do you mean?" She asked.

"My birth father killed my mother when I was eight. Then I got diagnosed with diabetes. He hated me. Well. He hated the fact that I'm a girl. He was trying to kill me the night he killed my mom. The night I wound up in Mom and Dad's backyard, I was running to avoid being beaten by him again." I said.

"Have your adoptive parents ever hit you?"

"No," I said.

"Do you worry about your safety with them?"

"No," I reiterated.

"Have they ever put you in harm's way?"

"They have never done anything but show me love, let me grow and thrive. My birth dad tried to kill me. In many ways. Mom and Dad are awesome. If I step out of line, they are fair. But they have never done anything but be amazing, caring parents."

"Okay. What about your sister?"

"What about her?"

"Do they hit or hurt your sister?"

"No!" I exclaimed.

"You have a lot of healed breaks and fractures. What happened?"

"Which time? I fell off a bridge, broke an arm and had a skull fracture.  Last October my dad and I were in a car accident. We were hit by a truck. Dad got a couple of broken ribs and a concussion. I got a crushed right side, collapsed lung, head injury, broken femur and a month-long coma."

The social worker asked a few more questions and then went to talk to Mom and Dad. Maybe twenty minutes later, Mom and Dad were back at my side.

"Is she going to take me away?" I asked.

"I don't think so," Mom said. "The doctor is being careful."

I sighed. I hoped Mom was right. The thought of Rosie winding up in foster care because a doctor couldn't be bothered to get records? Typical. 

We sat around waiting some more when the social worker came back into my curtained room. 

"The doctor is very worried about your fractures and history," she said to me. "He wants an investigation done."

"What does that mean?" Dad asked. 

"It means she wants to take me away from you. And maybe Rosie, too," I glared at the social worker. 

"You can't take our children away from us!" Mom said. "Samantha's thrived in our care! We adopted her! We chose her to be a part of our family! You can't take her away!"

Mom and Dad were both at my side, holding me. I was trying to hold back the tears. 

"I'm sorry, but until the investigation is over, we have to think of the safety of your children."

"You can't take me away from them!" I cried. "I'll die if you do!"

"Let's not get dramatic, Samantha," the social worker said. "We will try to place the girls together, for Rosie's sake, but I don't know if we have anyone willing to take a toddler and a teenager."

I hugged Rosie to me. 

"I'm not going anywhere! You can't take us away! Mom and Dad are wonderful parents! You can't take us away!"

It didn't matter how much we argued and fought, the police took Mom and Dad away, leaving Rosie and me alone with a social worker.  Rosie was crying for Mom and Dad because she didn't understand what was happening. 

"Mama!" she cried, reaching for the curtain. "Dada!"

I held her and cried into her soft hair.