Her rage turned in the direction of her father. “What the fuck, Dad, now you’re on their side? They’re tryin’ to fucking take Aston away from me, don’t you see that? They’re trying to take Aston away.”

She directed the fight back toward the social worker. “Who the fuck told you he was getting abused? I want to know who called you.”

The social worker cocked an eyebrow. “Ma’am, I’m not allowed to tell you who gives us a referral. But we do need to take Aston to get a medical exam. The law allows us to take custody of a child in this situation.”

“No fuckin’ way. No fuckin’ way am I gonna let you take my son away.”

Ciarra started to walk toward Aston, intent on claiming him away from the man who was preoccupying him. One of the police officers, who had been standing like a guard statue, spoke up. “Ma’am, if you intervene, you may be lookin’ at arrest. I may have to arrest you.”

Ciarra yelled, “This is bullshit. This is such fucking bullshit.” Her anger gave way to uncontrollable sobbing.

Mike interjected. “Well, what if I take custody for a while? I’m his granddad.”

The woman shook her head regretfully. “We can’t let Aston stay in a place where we can’t be sure that he has access to running water or food. Whoever has custody of him has to be living in a suitable residence.”

Mike looked down at the floor, his hope expended by the grief that he dared not overtly show them.

“What the fuck about all those people down on Skid Row?” Ciarra asked. “They have fuckin’ kids. Why the fuck aren’t they getting their kids taken?”

The way they reacted to her question denoted that they had no explanation to offer her. Ciarra collected herself and tried, despite her despair, to make herself the victim. “We’ve had a hard time, that’s all. It’s just me and him, you know? His dad don’t give us any money. We don’t live here. We’re just here temporarily so my dad can watch him when I work.”