Amara Chapman, an extraordinarily beautiful yet shy, unassuming girl, is torn from her home and all she'd ever known when her grandmother suddenly passes away.
Reluctantly sent to live with her estranged father in Chicago, he wants nothing to do wi...
I arrive at Paulson's office at precisely 10:30 am sharp. While the thought of spending any extra time with him makes me ill, I want to be sure to arrive before CPS does because I don't trust him any farther than I could throw him.
Thankfully, no one is sitting in the small, nearby waiting area, so I sit beside his door and listen to him talking on the phone, trying to find a nursing home that will take an elderly patient here at the hospital.
In other words, he's evicting some poor, old person.
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I pop an Adderall and wash it down with what's left of my cotton candy flavored VPX Bang energy drink. I haven't slept much in over three days now, so hopefully, this will perk me up.
I toss the empty can in the trash and take a seat.
At 10:56, a short, brunette, prudish looking woman in her early thirties, with very little make-up on, walks into the waiting area holding a folder, wearing a cheap, frumpy, navy colored pantsuit, faux pearl earrings with her hair pulled back in a bun, carrying an imitation designer purse, looking like she hit the sales rack at Target.
Without a doubt, she's from CPS.
And most likely, she's an angry, single feminist with a stick up her ass, who probably has cats...lots of cats.
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As she nears me, I stand.
"Are you here to see Mr. Paulson?" I ask.
"Yes," she answers with a look of confusion on her face while eyeing me critically.
"Aristide Sinclair...I am Miss Chapman's physician," I introduce myself, holding my hand out, clearing any confusion up.
"Laura Hughes," she shakes my hand. "I was expecting a Mr. Paulson."
"He's in his office, finishing up a call," I hold my arm out towards his door, letting her lead the way.
She knocks on the door and he tells us to come in.
