Page 54 of Play Fake
Her eyes stay on the sidewalk. “At first? He was easy. Charming in the way guys are when they know everyone expects them to be. And my parents love him, or his family really. What it meant for them. Which…honestly, was probably the real reason I stayed with him as long as I did.” She shrugs one shoulder, the motion small. “It felt simpler to let them believe I was happy than to admit I wasn’t when I knew they wouldn’t care.”
I nod once, letting the words settle. “Simpler doesn’t mean better.”
She looks up at me then, surprise flickering across her face before softening into something else.
We walk the rest of the way in silence, but it’s not the heavy kind. Just comfortable. When Emerson Hall comes into view, she slows, tugging her bag higher on her shoulder.
“Thanks for walking me,” she says, her smile small but real.
I nod. “See you Monday.”
And as I turn back toward my place, I can’t shake the thought that she deserves better than “simpler.”
18
SOPHIE
Thursday mornings always start the same.
The smell of crayons and hand sanitizer greets me the second I step into the foster agency’s playroom, a mix of chaos and comfort I’ve come to love. Plastic bins of toys line the shelves, walls covered in finger-painted masterpieces, and the hum of cartoons drifts from the TV in the corner.
I set my bag on the counter, rolling up the sleeves of my sweatshirt. “Morning, Miss Denise,” I call out to the caseworker already juggling paperwork at her desk.
She waves without looking up. “God bless you for showing up early. They’ve got more energy than I do after two cups of coffee.”
I laugh, then head straight to the play mats where a handful of kids are building towers with oversized blocks.
“Miss Sophie!” Four-year-old Eli barrels toward me, curls bouncing, his tiny sneakers squeaking against the linoleum. He wraps himself around my legs like a koala.
“Hey, buddy.” I crouch down, smoothing a hand over his hair. “You keeping everyone in line today?”
He grins, gap-toothed and proud. “I built the biggest tower!”
“Biggest, huh?” I glance over at the leaning pile of blocks behind him, more miracle than architecture. “Looks like a skyscraper to me.”
He beams, tugging at my hand until I follow him back to the mat. I sit cross-legged, letting him pile block after block into my lap, listening to him chatter about superheroes and snack time.
These mornings are always busy—wrangling toddlers, coaxing shy kids to join in, singing the same nursery rhyme on repeat until it’s permanently etched into my brain. But somewhere between the coloring books and snack breaks, I always feel it. That tug in my chest that reminds me why I’m here.
Why this is what I want to do. Who I want to help when I can.
The door creaks open midmorning, and Caleb shuffles in, Miss Denise’s hand resting gently on his shoulder. Normally, he’s a bundle of curls and giggles, always showing me his latest crayon masterpiece. But right now, his little fists are balled tight, his chin tucked down into the collar of his sweatshirt.
“Caleb had his visit this morning,” Miss Denise murmurs to me, low enough the others don’t hear. Her eyes soften. “Might need some extra patience today.”
I nod, heart sinking.
“Hey, bud,” I say carefully, crouching so I’m eye-level with him. “You want to come sit with me?”
His bottom lip wobbles. “I don’t like it there,” he whispers, voice cracking the way only a four-year-old’s can. “She gets mad.”
Oh, sweet boy.
I swallow hard and keep my tone gentle. “That must feel really scary.”
His eyes dart up, wide and wet. “What if I have to go back with her?”
God, I want to wrap him up and promise she won’t. But those aren’t promises I’m allowed to make. What Icando is show him he’s safe here, now.
