Chapter 6: What Mia Told Me
I pulled over.
Mia saw me stop.
She looked at the phone on the seat, then at my face.
"What is it?"
I turned the screen toward her.
She read it.
The color left her face the way water leaves a glass — fast, and all at once.
"Mia."
"It's not what she's making it sound like."
"Tell me what it is."
She turned toward the window.
Her hands were in her lap, fingers pressed flat against her thighs.
"Before I was placed with you," she said, "I was with another family.
The Dorans.
I was there for four months."
"Okay."
"Mrs.
Doran used to go through my things.
My bag, my room, my phone.
She said it was house rules but it was — she just wanted to know everything.
And one day she found a letter I'd written.
I didn't send it.
I was just writing it out because I was upset."
"A letter to who?"
"To my mom." A pause.
"My birth mom.
She's not — she's not in my life.
She can't be.
But sometimes I just write things out.
It helps me think."
"What was in the letter?"
Mia was quiet for a moment.
"I said I was unhappy.
I said the house didn't feel safe.
I said I wanted to leave." She exhaled slowly.
"Mrs.
Doran reported to the agency that I was emotionally unstable and making false allegations.
She said I was a disruptive placement."
"And the agency moved you."
"To Vanessa."
I sat with that for a second.
"So when Vanessa told you that she'd report you as a problem placement—"
"I already knew what that meant." Mia's voice was flat.
"I already knew what happened when someone wrote that in your file.
You get moved somewhere worse, or you don't get placed at all, and you go back into group housing." She finally turned back to face me.
"I couldn't go back there.
I just couldn't."
"Mia.
The letter you wrote — were the things you said in it true?
Was the Doran house unsafe?"
She looked at me steadily.
"Mrs.
Doran's husband used to stand in the hallway outside my room at night.
He never came in.
But he stood there."
The truck was very quiet.
"Did you tell anyone?"
"I told Mrs.
Doran."
"What did she say?"
"She said I was imagining things.
And then two weeks later she found the letter and reported me."
I picked up my phone.
Opened Carol Marsh's number.
"I need to tell Carol about the Dorans," I said.
"Before we go in."
"Will it make things worse for me?"
"No.
It makes things worse for them." I looked at her.
"You understand that none of this is your fault."
She didn't answer right away.
"Mia.
What happened at the Dorans, what happened with Vanessa — none of it is something you caused."
"I know that," she said.
But the way she said it told me she was still working on believing it.
I called Carol.
She picked up on the second ring and I told her about the text, and then I handed the phone to Mia and let her tell Carol about the Dorans herself.
Mia spoke for about four minutes.
Her voice stayed steady the whole time.
When she handed the phone back, her hands were shaking slightly, but her face was clear.
"Carol wants us there in an hour," I said.
"Okay."
I pulled back onto the road.
After a minute, Mia said: "How did Vanessa even get that number?
To send you the text?"
I thought about it.
"She had access to the household paperwork.
Probably had my number listed as emergency contact somewhere."
"She was trying to scare you off."
"Yeah."
"Did it work?"
I glanced over at her.
"What do you think?"
For the first time in two days, something close to a smile crossed her face.
Small, and careful, and real.
It didn't last long.
But it was there.
We drove the rest of the way to the agency in quiet, and I kept both hands on the wheel, and I didn't look at my phone again until we were parked.
There was a second text from the same number.
*She's been in four placements in three years.
Think about why.*
I deleted both messages without showing Mia.
Then I got out of the truck, walked around to her side, and opened the door.
"Ready?" I said.
She climbed out.
Straightened her jacket.
May you like
"Yeah," she said.
"Let's finish it."
