“We’re just getting ready to leave, Morris,” Minerva says. “I’m assuming you agree that we’ve followed all protocols and our work here is done?”

Morris shakes his head. “We have a bit of a problem. Can you sit back down, Minerva?”

“What’s going on?” Evelyn says, grabbing Buster from the floor, yanking him into her lap.

Morris smears one palm against the other. “I’m afraid I’ve just found evidence of serious drug use.”

“What evidence?” Minerva rounds the table and stands by Evelyn. “What are you talking about?”

“These were in the bedroom, sticking out from under the bed.” He has at least four bags of cocaine in his hand, some of them chalky and half-open. He did look properly. I knew I was right.

Evelyn’s head whips from Morris to me to Minerva. “No, that’s not mine. What the fuck?” She looks at Buster. The panic on her face makes my stomach twist, but there’s nothing I can do. She did this to herself.

“No,” Minerva says. She looks like she’s been personally slapped.

“It’s not mine,” Evelyn says. “I swear to God I don’t touch that shit no more.”

“Mrs. Floyd, I’m afraid we’re going to have to remove Buster today.” Morris says it as gently as he can. “This much cocaine, this accessible. I’m very sorry, but we don’t have a choice.”

“You can’t take him!” she wails, standing up, Buster clamped around her middle. “Don’t take him from me!” Evelyn covers her mouth with one hand as if she might vomit through her fingers. I feel so sad suddenly—as I always do in these moments—but what matters most is what’s best for the child.

Buster sees his mother’s panic, and his lower lip begins to protrude and tremble.

“Fucking what?” Frank Floyd crashes through the door and into the kitchen, carrying diapers and a bag of groceries. “Who’s doing what now?”

“They’re saying there’s coke in our bedroom!” Evelyn cries.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Frank slams the diapers onto the kitchen counter and approaches us as if we’re wild circus animals. “Nobody’s using drugs in my house.”

The rumble of Frank’s voice frightens Buster even more, and he starts to cry, his little arms clinging to his mother. She grips him to her chest. Meanwhile, Morris looks gray in the face and Minerva is turning red. Someone needs to take control of this situation.

“Okay, listen, can we all please calm down?” I take a deep breath. “Mr. and Mrs. Floyd, our boss is saying there’s immediate risk here, and I’m afraid it’s enough of a reason to—”

“Who the fuck is he? I don’t give a fuck about your boss,” Frank says. “Get out of my house.”