Sweetie, where are your parents? I still remember that voice. I was six, sitting on the floor by the dryers. My biological mom left me there and never came back. I kept staring at the door, waiting. People walked past me until Kate stopped. She asked me that question, then sat beside me. She stayed with me at the station for hours. No one showed up. Every number they tried failed. I had nothing but the clothes I was wearing. Kate came back the next morning. And the next. She brought snacks, a blanket, and a small notebook for me. She told the workers she’d foster me “until the right thing happens.” The right thing ended up being adoption papers with her name on them. She raised me on her own. Two jobs. Every school event, every tough night, she was there. I became an officer because I wanted to be what she was for me—someone who doesn’t walk past a lost kid. She still calls me her best decision.
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