We find Gabriella curled in a corner of the couch. A game show plays on the TV. Someone has maintained the red of her hair, and the style is still short but no longer spiky. She’s dressed in an oversized green sweater and black leggings. Pink bunny slippers cover her feet, their long ears drooping. She’s much heavier than she was in those earlier photos. I knock on the doorframe.

“Come in!” Gabriella says, blue eyes sparking. “Two guests. Lucky me!” She leaps to her feet when she spies Moose. “And a dog! I love dogs!” Moose pads over and she scratches him from head to butt. “Heidi and I used to have a dog. His name was Happy. You’re a good boy, yes you are.” She kisses the top of Moose’s head.

Thomas takes the chair while I sit on the sofa. Please remember me. “Gabriella—”

“You must be lost, dear,” she says, retaking her corner of the couch. “Shall I ask my clerk to help you?”

I adjust. “Briella?”

“Yes? I don’t mean to be rude, but my docket is full today. On your way out, you can ask my clerk to make an appointment.”

“She already did. I’m right on time.”

“Oh good. They’re on me like flies on shite if I get behind. What are we discussing today?”

“A foster care case,” I reply. “Sylvie Peters.”

Gabriella taps her temple, lips pursed. “Peters. Peters. I don’t recall that name. Give me the basics. Chop-chop.”

Thomas quickly explains, “She was a foster child between 2000 and 2002. Hospitalized after a trauma. You sealed her file.”

“Heidi asked you to,” I add.

“Heidi who?” She nibbles a nail already bitten to the quick then darts a look at Thomas. “Is he the opposing counsel? Looker, that one, but don’t get distracted. Your job is to protect the children.”

“We’re all on the same side,” Thomas says, “working for the best interest of the child.”

Gabriella nods. “Foster care—important system, but terribly flawed. If I had my way, it’d run smoother.”

I ask, “What would you do?”

She leans in. “The problem is that nobody wants a problem.” She taps her forehead like what she just said was brilliant.

I repeat, “Do you remember Sylvie Peters?”

“You have stunning eyes—don’t see that shade of light gray very often. What was your name, dear?”

“Sue. I’m the lawyer assigned to Sylvie Peters. She was the little girl who didn’t talk for a year. She was hospitalized then placed in a foster home. Eventually a couple named Hana and Wess Young adopted her. The adoption went through very quickly.”

“Ah, the skids were greased,” Gabriella says with one finger held in the air. “I’m reminded of an old case. Bear with me, there is always an important moral to my stories. God loves a moral. He also enjoys fucking with us.”

Her eyes dim then lose focus like a cartoon character under hypnosis. Briella returns to the game show on TV. “Choose curtain number three, you dolt,” she shouts at the contestant. Thomas crosses the room, blocks the screen.