Page 113 of When Stars Fall

She glances from me to her father. Her attempt to gauge how angry we’ll be is needless; I’m more concerned with the truth. And that she’s alive. I’m so grateful she’s alive.

“Are you going to be mad?” A worried frown creases her brow.

“Probably.” I brush a strand of hair off her forehead. “But you understand I love you, no matter what, always. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.” I choke out the last few words and tears trickle out again.

Wyatt tugs me into the chair beside him and keeps one hand clasped in mine while his other hand stays with Haven. “Sweetheart.” His voice is gentle. “We’re trying to figure out how we stop this from happening again. Okay?”

The answer is easy. Keep Anna away from our children, and that includes her own child. I stare at Wyatt and send a silent prayer to anyone listening that he never relapses. This Wyatt, holding my hand, guiding my daughter—my heart overflows with love for him. For the first time in a long time, clinging to him will get me out of this nightmare better than navigating this mess alone.

“I went to get my doll.” Haven sniffs and takes a deep breath. “But then I had to go to the bathroom.” She twists her hands together. “When I went in, there was stuff everywhere. Needles, pills, some powdery stuff. Mom doesn’t like a mess. I tried to clean everything. I wiped the powder off the counter into the garbage. Then I didn’t feel good.”

She had to pick this time to worry about a mess. Haven’s created lots of them with no concerns, and today she decides to be tidy.

“What’d you use to wipe the powder?” Wyatt’s voice is soothing, understanding.

Haven holds up her hands. “I shouldn’t have done that, right? Is that what happened?”

“No, you shouldn’t have done that,” Wyatt says.

Whatever she got into, he understands what it was. I’m afraid to ask. Ignorance might be bliss. “This makes sense to you?”

“With her hand?” Nikki pipes up from the other side of the bed. “This happened because shetouchedone of the drugs?”

“Unfortunately. Fentanyl is tricky.” Wyatt squeezes my fingers, and someone knocks on the door.

We all turn to see a brown-skinned woman with long dark hair standing on the threshold, clutching an oversize purse. She’s young, maybe younger than us. “I’m Priya Sidana.” She comes toward the hospital bed. “From the Children’s Aid Society. I was hoping to have a few moments alone with Haven to talk about what happened.”

“She can’t be questioned alone,” I say. “She’s nine.” I stand, and Wyatt does too.

Priya glances over her shoulder, and Dr. Boxton enters behind her. “Dr. Boxton can act as the other adult in the room. The conversation is confidential.”

Helplessness overwhelms me, and I check with Wyatt, needing some direction. We understand what happened, but I’m not sure how a stranger is going to interpret Haven’s accident. Neglect? Wyatt’s past might influence Priya. His drug use is the stuff of legends.

“I’ll speak to you after.” Priya gives us an encouraging smile.

Her sunny disposition isn’t helping to ease my fear. Women in her job can turn that attitude on and off like a faucet. I shadowed a child protection worker for a movie. When they’re called to a case, things can go downhill quickly.

“We’ll be in the waiting room.” Wyatt links his fingers with mine. He extends his arm to Nikki and draws her to his other side.

I take in their easy camaraderie, thankful they aren’t blaming each other. I’m not sure I could handle any animosity between them. Before we leave the room, I stare at Haven, so tiny and pale in the bed. Her overdose was an accident. Wyatt and I were working. This woman, this stranger, can’t fault us.

“It’ll be okay,” Wyatt whispers in my ear, and we head down the hall.

Nothing is okay right now. In the waiting room, we sit in a cloud of silence, the ticking clock above the door the only sound. Hearing that noise for any length of time will drive me insane. A dripping tap that can’t be switched off.

“I’m going to call Mom and Dad.” Nikki takes her phone out of her pocket. “Text me if you need me to come back right away.”

I squeeze her hand on the way past. Wyatt gives her a curt nod and takes gum out of his pocket. He throws two pieces in his mouth. A now-familiar coping mechanism, but for some reason the action makes my heart drop. The way he does it reminds me of when he used to take pills. He puts his hand on my leg and leans back in the chair. His relaxed attitude is a front; the gum gave him away. But if I didn’t know better, he’d appear unaffected.

Inside, I’m on the cusp of falling apart. We’re in Canada, for God’s sake. They can’t take our kid from us. We don’t even live here. “Why is it taking so long?”

“It’s only been ten minutes.” His eyes remain closed.

“Do you think she’ll take Haven?”

“No.”

“How can you be sure?”

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