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on you because you took matters into your own hands wouldn’t sit well at the office. 
    “Okay, I’ll go, and you don’t have to worry about me ever coming back.  But I want the same from you.  Don’t you ever, don’t you dare ever step foot in my home again.  Because if you do, I’ll catch you next time.  I’ve installed security cameras that you’ll never find, I’ve got a new alarm system, and my neighbors have all seen pictures of you.  You’ll never get away with this again.”  She wondered how he’d gotten away with it this time.  How the hell do you kill a dog in a high-rise without someone noticing its cries of pain?
    With great relief, Bruce closed their home’s heavy oak door as she left.  He always answered when he heard a visitor.  Mormons, girl scouts, didn’t matter.  If someone knocked, he answered.  Even suspecting a confrontational visit such as this one hadn’t changed him.  Frightened people don’t answer their doors and pretend not to be home, and I’m no frightened person.   He would’ve answered his door even if Sara had dispatched an angry boyfriend to confront him.  But he had to admit, it was nice to finally close his door.
    “It’s over, Martha.  August will live with someone else now.”
    “You don’t know that.  We don’t know that.  It may be over insofar as Sara’s concerned, but she’s just one social worker among many in this city.  We can work around her.  It’ll take time, and we might have to work with a new adoption agency, but that’s what our lawyer’s for.  We need to talk to him.  He’ll believe us when we tell him that you didn’t do anything to her home.  He’ll figure something out.”
    “No, Martha, it’s truly over.  I don’t have the energy to fight two battles at once.  I’m spreading myself thin trying to prosecute Gabriel Adelaide.  I don’t have the strength to wrestle with social services too. I…” he stopped.  The urge hit him.  The urge to instantly relieve himself hit him on the spot, midsentence.  Bruce’s ulcerative colitis was an inflammatory bowel disease worsened by stress, and the encounter with Sara had been very stressful.  He barely made it to the toilet on time.  On the john and relieved that he hadn’t soiled himself, he thought, Maybe it’s for the best.  I do have shitty health.  Haha! He weakly smiled.  Let the kid live with someone younger, someone healthier.  
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    D.A. Investigated for Home Invasion.  The headline was the story.  Gina Ringer read the article in the metro section, after being alerted to it by her husband of thirty-three years, Bill.  She read it with the same disapproving silence that Bill had read it with.  It was that lawyer guy who was trying to adopt August.  He’d gone crazy when he found out that the adoption had fallen through.  He’d broken into Sara’s home, and he’d made quite a mess.  It didn’t matter that the Boston Times also said that the investigation was still underway and that no one had been arrested yet.  That lawyer guy was already guilty in their eyes.  They knew Sara, because they were August’s current foster parents.  They’d never liked the idea of August leaving their home, and so they’d never liked the Hudsons.  As a foster child, August netted them $500 a month, and there weren’t many sources of income as effortless as babysitting a child too scared to move.  Sara, ever the optimist, had been wrong to tell Bruce that it would take a lot of get-up-and-go to watch August.
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Chapter Two
    Two weeks later, on the day Gabe’s trial concluded…
    August was in bed at 6 in the evening.  He was always eager to go to bed early, despite needing hours to fall asleep.  His self-imposed 6 o’clock bedtime and his extreme shyness meant that he needed little supervision.  The kid barely played.  And when he did, it was with great