Author Note:

Hope this one turned out alright; I did some experimenting. IUW's draft is complete and ends just shy of 50 chapters. Expect updates to stall as I adjust to a new life at home (I just came home yesterday with a brand new babe!), but there is enough done that I'm hopeful I'll return to my routine soon. Next couple updates are nearly post-ready. Do send messages of encouragement! My responses haven't been great recently but I so appreciate hearing from all of you. ~b'shert

Please read this chapter with care. There's a scene that includes graphic description of child abuse. It was a late addition that helped lay a stronger foundation to carry the storyline.

Chapter 38: Monsters that Appear in the Night

Callie let the tears slip over the bridge of her nose and into the pillow as she listened to the rest of the family downstairs. Every so often, there'd be laughter amidst the sound of cutlery against dishes and indistinct voices and she wondered what they were having or talking about. They sounded happy and a part of her wished she hadn't turned down the bedtime snack.

She missed them. Sorta…

Her discouragement peaked as she considered everything that'd gone wrong. Although she'd been told off here and there, things had been better in recent weeks. They would discuss whatever it was—like when she had walked out of the family session and swore at Stef—and the women hadn't seemed too upset.

This time, though, she had really messed up. Not only were Stef and Lena disappointed for what had happened with Jude, she had taken more of the blame that what she'd actually been responsible for—saying she had broken the stereo.

It wasn't that it was out of the ordinary. Whenever Jude was in a situation where he would likely face the wrath of an adult, she never hesitated to step in. As his older sister, she simply accepted that she needed to look out for him.

What bugged her was that he had never taken it for granted. Not until today.

Fear crept up her spine at the memory of what had happened when she'd once taken the fall for something Jude had started. Her mind wandered to the possibility of facing a similar consequence as she drifted off, but she talked herself down.

Stef and Lena weren't like that.

They were good people.

They were kind.

Safe…

She felt a tug on her sleeve reminding her that she wasn't alone. "Val gonna punish you?" Jude piped up.

"Ugh. Jude! How am I supposed to know?" she snapped. Although, she did—all of them knew what happened if you ended up in the room at the back of the house. Mostly, she was annoyed that he had followed her.

After their foster mother discovered what they had done, she'd been brought here and told to wait.

"Oh…" her brother said softly, making her feel guilty. She reminded herself that she wouldn't be in this mess had it not been for him.

Callie dropped her head before giving him a forced smile. "You know what, Bud? It's going to be okay," she said brightly as she gave his sweaty hand a squeeze. He was only four—practically a baby—and she didn't want to be mad at him.

"Just go with Lindsay, okay?" she said, referring to one of the girls who also lived there. The last thing she wanted was for him to be there when their foster mother got back. In case she changed her mind about punishing him, too. Jude studied her face, deciding if he believed her, before grinning. "Okay!" he said, taking off. She felt a bit of pride when he left, knowing Lindsay would take care of him. It was something they'd done together before when the other boy was in trouble. Neither of them wanting Jude to hear.

The butterflies in her stomach took flight as soon as the woman came in and the door clicked shut. There was the sound of drawer contents being rummaged through in the adjoining bathroom before Val came out and stood before her.

"You're getting a little too comfortable here, Callie Jacob. It's been less than a month and you're already proving that you are more trouble than you're worth."

"I—I'm sorry. It was an accident..." Callie apologized, not daring to look up. Eye contact only ever seemed to make things worse. Val was different from Jeanine…she didn't beat them, but would punish them over everything—even small mistakes, like forgetting to switch the laundry quick enough, or leaving a dish out on the counter. A wet towel out on the bed. Last week, she'd been taken to the bathroom to have her mouth washed out with soap. All because she'd "been fresh" but in reality, she had been answering a question. It hadn't been a pleasant experience and she doubted this would be, too. The woman looked pretty angry.

Her stomach churned when she saw the bath brush Val was slapping against her palm.

This was going to suck.

"It won't happen again," Callie offered. As if somehow that would make her foster mother less angry than she already was. Suddenly feeling like she needed to pee, she clamped her legs shut and took a step back.

Stupid Jude. If only he'd listened to her—if only she'd refused to give in—the door wouldn't have broke.

"No. It won't. Because I'm going to remind you what happens when you act up in this house."

The woman tapped the side of her leg with the edge of the brush. "These are going to need to come down," she said emotionlessly.

Shame crept up Callie's neck and face. Her Mom had never asked her to pull down her pants like that. In fact, it wasn't until foster care that she was asked to expose herself. But after her experience with Jeanine, she was not going to argue with anyone who'd be hitting her. She swallowed, briefly looking up at the woman.

"You heard me."

Tears welled up in Callie's eyes as she resigned herself to obedience. Fumbling with the button on her corduroys, she pulled them down just below her hips so the front of the pants still gave her some privacy.

The woman shook her head. "All the way down. Save your tears—you're going to be crying a lot more when I'm done with you," she said as Callie began to sniffle. She led her to the bed by the arm before bending her over the side. "Lean over—flat on your stomach. Don't move."

Legs nearly buckling at the directive, Callie shuffled over and did as she was told. As she laid down on the bedspread, she realized that the vibrant floral print was completely oxymoronic to this situation. She closed her eyes and braced herself as the wood tapped against her skin, sending a shiver up her back.

"Hands up front. Keep still or I'll start over," Val instructed, lifting the brush quickly before resting it against her a few more times.

Unprepared for the first stroke, Callie flinched at the benign pop of the paddle against her skin, which left behind an immediate sting that made her gasp. It shocked her that something so small could hurt that much. Not wanting to give her foster mother the satisfaction of seeing her become upset, she drew her entire lip into her mouth and gripped the bedspread. However, it wasn't long until the discomfort built up to an unbearable level and she began to cry steadily—shifting her weight from foot to foot.

"STAY STILL, CALLIE—get that bottom out," the woman ordered. "Let this be a lesson to you! You deserve every single one…" she said as the implement came down in quick succession.

Desperate for reprieve, Callie threw her hands back and brought her feet all the way up for protection. This hurt way more than she'd thought it would.

"What did I say about staying in position?" Val barked. The woman forced her legs down before landing a series of hard slaps on the back of each thigh, causing her to wail.

She fought to catch her breath as she watched her foster mother walk over to the window blinds. This was not over.

"V—Val, please, n—no!" she begged, hoping to change her mind somehow. Panic was beginning to set in. "I—I'm sorry—I—l—learned my lesson!"

"Turn over and give me your hand."

"Val…" she pled, shaking her head as she rolled onto her side. Her foster mother was becoming more enraged by the second.

"YOUR HAND, CALLIE! You will be a sorry little girl if I have to do it for you!"

Angered that she was taking too long, the woman grabbed her by the wrist. "Open up."

Callie howled as the rod hit her palm. It felt like she had put her hand on a hot stove element.

"Other one!"

Knowing that Val was getting frustrated, Callie was quicker to begin to comply this time...but fear got the better of her and she instinctively clenched her hand closed at the last second. As she shoved her knuckles into her mouth to soothe them, her foster mother easily forced her back onto her stomach. Her knees slammed against the metal frame in the process, causing her to freeze.

She whimpered as she felt the woman's hand pin her down hard, forcing her lower back into an arch. At this point, she could no longer control her cries which had become high-pitched and juvenile. Nor did she care who heard her.

"I am nowhere near done with you. You're an ungrateful—insolent—naughty child—and you are not going to be able to sit comfortably when I am through with you," Val told her as the paddling resumed in its unrelenting rhythm. "You only have yourself to blame for this."

When it was over, Callie lay there, convulsing for breath and retching on thickened saliva. She didn't bother to resist when the woman got her up and dragged her back to the corner. She hurt all over.

"You'd better think twice before you pull something like that again. Next time, a paddling will be the least of your worries. It will be the belt, do you hear me?"

Callie nodded, doing everything she could think of so that the woman would stop being mad and go away.

The only things on her mind were how she would leave the room and face the others.

If Jude had heard, and if so, how she'd explain.

She woke up drenched in cold sweat.

Daylight was seeping into the dim room from the seams where the blinds didn't quite meet, and she couldn't figure out why it was earlier than what her body was telling her. She startled when she felt a clammy hand slip into her's. Jude.

"Hi," he said in his wheedling voice.

"Hey, buddy." She kissed the top of his head and tousled his hair; she wasn't annoyed with him anymore. They were so lucky to have each other.

"Why are we here?" she asked, alarmed as she looked around. The bed was the same and she could hear footsteps in the hall, getting closer.

Jude stared at her, confusion painted all over his face. "We live here," he said sweetly with a shrug of his shoulders. "You're in trouble 'cause, the door—remember?"

She spun around as the door opened and knocked against the wall.

Stef.

The cop became increasingly concerned as she watched Callie toss and turn. She and Lena had dealt with their share of night terrors and had their own tried and true methods to soothe each of their children back to sleep. This time, though, she was having a lot of difficulty rousing her daughter.

Judging by how upset Callie had been that evening, they had predicted a rough night—so much so that they'd kept the hallway light on and the door to the girls bedroom open. Their youngest daughter hadn't minded. Worried, they stayed up until Callie's sniffling subsided and she succumbed to sleep. However, neither were surprised when Mariana woke them up, promptly usurping Stef's side of the bed while the cop went to tend to Callie.

"Wake up for me, love. C'mon, sweetness. It's time to wake up," the cop murmured as she used one hand to firmly rub Callie's back. She draped a towel over the bedside lamp to dim it before removing the layers of bedding to try and wake her daughter.

The snippets of conversation that Callie was unknowingly letting her in on were nonsensical. However, the girl's distress was evident. Her breathing was laboured, and intermittent whimpering had been replaced by what appeared to be one long scream where no sound was coming out.

"Hey, you're okay—" she comforted when Callie sat up with a jolt. "You're okay. It was just a nightmare."

Her relief quickly dissipated when she saw the expression of perplexed horror on the girl's face.

"Callie…" Stef kept her voice down. If this was a night terror, the sleep-to-wake transition would need to be gradual to avoid frightening her even more.

Her daughter stared straight through her, telling her that she was still half-dreaming.

"I didn't do it, you have to believe me," Callie said with desperation in her voice. "I don't know who but it wasn't me who broke it, I swear!"

"Callie…hey," Stef tried again, her tone a little more forceful this time. Hoping that physical contact might help her come to, she reached out and squeezed Callie's hands reassuringly. "What's broken?"

The girl shook her head as tears continued to roll down her cheeks. "No! I didn't! Not this time! Someone else did it."

"I believe you, honey. You didn't do it. You didn't break it," Stef affirmed.

"I learned my lesson from last time," the girl rambled on in a small voice, not hearing her. "I wouldn't do that again."

The cop's stomach churned thinking of what Callie might be alluding to. "What, love?"

She had a sinking feeling that whatever the night terror was about had been based on true events. And though she and Lena had always known it'd be a matter of time before they learned from their children how previous caregivers had dealt with them, it didn't make it any easier to stomach the truth.

"I know. I know…" she soothed, wanting to alleviate the girl's fears. Although Callie would most likely not have full recollection of her dream when she woke, she couldn't stand to see her this afraid.

"I promise I'm going to do better, just not that!" Callie begged as her voice rose an octave. A last ditch effort on her part to change the woman's mind. "Anything but that. I—I don't want that!"

Her heart in her throat from the words her daughter had uttered, Stef braced herself. Steadying her breath, she asked, "Want what, honey?"

The answer came in the form of the girl's hands immediately going to the waistband of her pyjama pants.

"No one's going to hurt you," the woman vowed. "You're safe here." She was trying not to cry as her mind wandered to what Callie's experience could've been. None of the possibilities were good.

"But it's broken," Callie whimpered. Something was up with this lady; she was not listening to her.

"Can you tell me what is it that's broken?" Stef asked again, thinking it might be better to go along with the narrative to ease her daughter out of her delirium.

Due to mumbling speech, the response was difficult to decipher. She was able to eventually make out "hinge", "door", and "not closing"—before remembering what Bill had mentioned about the kids having damaged something in one of their placements.

"Callie. Callie. Listen to me. The door is fine, I just checked it a couple hours ago. It's not broken—" she began. Now that she knew the root of her daughter's distress, she knew exactly what needed to be addressed.

The girl shook her head in frustration. "—No, it is! I s—saw it."

"Okay. Okay. You saw that it was broken?" Stef relented, wondering what else could be tried.

Her heart broke as a small sob wracked Callie's body. "How about, you show me what happened—I mean, show me where," She was grateful when her daughter nodded and jumped out of bed. Callie took her hand, doing a sleepy shuffle down the hall as she led the woman to the front door.

It was eerie and on more than one occasion, Stef had to stop herself from intervening. Sleepwalking was absolutely terrifying to her. This was how kids ended up blocks away from home without parents even aware that they'd left their beds. In methodical fashion, Callie hopped up on tiptoes to undo the top latch—the one she had precisely installed when the kids were small to prevent them from leaving the house during episodes like this one—before unlocking the deadbolt.

"See," Callie insisted, opening the door to point to the area between the hinges.

Stef squinted as she flicked on the entryway lights. No, she did not see. She knelt down beside Callie in the doorway, not caring if the neighbours across the street saw her in her bedhead glory. Parenting was not for the fainthearted.

"I don't see anything out of the ordinary…" she said honestly. "I'm going to take your hand and we can check it out together, okay?" She grasped her daughter's hand in her's and gently grazed her fingers down the edge and across the hardware, being careful to avoid slivers. "See? Perfectly fine." Relief washed over her as she noticed Callie's eyes slowly begin to focus and adjust to the light. She was coming to.

"You need to wake up now, honey," she called louder, shaking Callie. "You're having a dream. It's time to wake up." Somewhat paranoid that the girl might run off, she kept her arms at the ready.

Callie rubbed her eyes. It felt like she'd gotten sand in them. Confused as to why the front door had been left wide open, she looked around. Realizing it was pitch black outside, she took a step backward into her home. "Stef?" she called out groggily, her voice coming out more quietly than she intended. "You didn't shut the door!" The cop had a nightly routine of checking all doors and windows to make sure they were locked up and she had obviously forgotten, big time.

It wasn't until she spun around that she saw her foster mother crouched beside her. "You always check everything—I can't believe you forgot—" Callie mumbled. She stopped as she became aware of the moisture on her cheeks and her mouth twisted in mid-cry. Suddenly, she had an idea of how they'd ended up here. Her pounding heart and glassy throat were good clues.

"Mom?!" Disoriented, she placed her arms around the woman and clung to her. She was the safest person she had right now.

"Callie!" the cop gasped. She pushed her daughter away momentarily and held her at arm's length—to confirm she really was lucid—before reciprocating. "I'm here, baby. It's okay. It was only a bad dream."

"Nightmare, Mom," Callie hiccupped, beginning to cry all over again as shame burned her cheeks. Although she couldn't remember what the the threat had been in the first place, her body was still telling her it was nearby. Waiting, and ready to swallow her whole.

"Oh, sweetness…I know…I'm so sorry," Stef consoled. "But you're not there anymore. You're safe."

Accepting that her daughter was not going to let go of her anytime soon, she mustered up the strength to hoist the both of them up from the floor.

Embarrassed to find herself being carried but too exhausted to want to do anything about it, Callie leaned against Stef. Eventually, she burrowed her head in the woman's neck—taking solace in the muffled sounds of the door being secured and Stef's whispered reassurances amidst steady footsteps.

"You need to try and get some sleep. Otherwise, you're not going to be able to get up tomorrow," Stef practically begged. Callie's eyelids had been starting to droop but she was fighting to stay awake, probably because she was afraid of another nightmare. "Go ahead. I'm not going anywhere," she said, trying to ease her daughter's fears as she wrapped an arm around her.

They were on the couch sharing a fleece throw, Callie snug up against her side. The foyer light was off but she'd left the kitchen and den lights on so it wasn't pitch black. They'd been sitting together for almost an hour but Callie had remained awake. So, she had been making a mental to do list—the first item on which consisted of moving the latch to the very top of the door frame in case any of her children sleepwalked again.

"How about some hot chocolate? Hmm?" she pressed when Callie declined. "No? Not even with marshmallows?" Lena would disapprove if the girl fell asleep with unbrushed teeth but it was nearly three-thirty in the morning and with work looming, Stef was desperate.

Callie smirked at her. "You're gonna put stuff in it to make me tired."

Stef dropped her jaw in surprise. "I wouldn't do that!

"My baby. Much too clever for her own good," she fussed, placing a kiss atop Callie's head. She reached into the basket beside the couch for a heavier blanket and placed it over them, hoping that the warmth would increase drowsiness. "Can I do anything for you, love?"

She thought she might melt when Callie looked up at her with big eyes. "Can you pull my PJ legs over my feet?" she asked, swiping her right foot over the cuff of her left pant leg. Her feet were cold and itched against the upholstery.

"I don't know…that's going to depend on how much they stink," she teased as she leaned over to yank the pant cuffs over her daughter's oversized feet, so that only her toes poked out. "How's that?"

"Good," Callie replied through a yawn.

"Alright. Let's get this over you." Stef straightened the blankets as Callie brought her legs up closer to her body so that she was now fully covered.

"Do you remember what your nightmare was about?"

"Sorta," Callie whispered, comforted by the woman's hand caressing her hair. It hadn't been very long since she'd woken up and her memory of the events were foggy. However, she did remember being back in that room as footsteps approached and feeling confused when it was Stef who showed up.

In the silence that followed, Stef worried she'd upset her daughter; Callie had pushed herself away, making her think she was being rejected. But it turned out that she only wanted a pillow, which she put onto her lap before settling back onto her side. Wanting to prevent the girl's hair from getting too matted, she diligently pulled the strands out from under her neck.

This time, she waited awhile before proceeding again. To see how far Callie would let her go.

"Something that happened before?" she ventured, continuing to stroke her daughter's hair.

"Kinda…but not really," Callie admitted as she fingered the label on the edge of the cushion. She shrugged, unsure how to explain. "It felt real though," she said shyly, still embarrassed by the sleepwalking.

"It always does, doesn't it?" Stef empathized. She had anticipated this level of disorientation with the night terror; Callie was far more likely to recall the visceral memories over actual content. She just wanted to get a gauge of how much was recallable so she didn't stir things up that the girl wasn't able to access yet. "Do you remember if it took place somewhere you'd been before?"

Callie nodded. "Yeah. At this one home me and Jude used to live…but then you were there." She frowned, wondering how much she wanted to share. Wrapped up warm with the dim light filtering into the room, head against the woman's thigh, reminded her nothing bad could happen, though.

"There were two others like us there—being fostered, I mean. Her real name was Val…but we, uh…called her Rigid Coleridge because she was really mean to us."

The cop smiled sadly as Callie shuffled around to grab her hand, bringing her whole arm down with it to snake around her upper body. It was uncomfortable but she dared not move out of the hug the girl was helping herself to. She knew Callie wouldn't be doing that if she didn't need the security.

Callie inhaled a shaky breath, finding her courage before being able to go on.

"We'd get slapped around a lot, if we didn't listen quick enough or made a mess. Like tracking mud on the floor or forgetting to wipe up after a bath, or if we broke something."

Stef held her tongue; she could say many things about this, none of which would be helpful nor appropriate. "How do you mean, Cal?" she pressed in as neutral a tone she could manage to encourage her to go on.

"Oh, you know, she'd hit us in the face or pinch our leg if we did something she didn't like," Callie replied in a horrifyingly nonchalant way. "We'd get a spanking if she was really mad."

"Jude was four, maybe?" Callie sighed. "He still peed the bed everyday...I'd try to clean up before, before she woke up, but sometimes I couldn't wake up in time. Or, he'd wet them again. And…if the sheets were wet when she checked she'd, uhm…you know the plastic stick from the blind?" She bit her lip, distressed by the memory of how Jude would start crying even before their foster mother could order him to strip. How it'd make her angrier because he wouldn't listen and now she was late for work. "She'd get that down and hit him with it."

The cop could only shake her head as she listened. The thought of a preschooler being punished for something that was a natural part of growing up and completely out of their control really threw her for a loop.

"Did you…?" she began, though she knew what the answer likely was. "Listen, honey. I'm here for you if you're ready to share but you don't have to tell me anything you're uncomfortable with," she reminded, making sure to give Callie permission to back out if she needed to.

The girl's expression became serious. "I know. I want to." She'd only been hesitating because she was remembering some of what had been going through her mind after her fight with Jude. Before she'd fallen asleep.

"Yeah. I used to get hit, too," she answered casually, not wanting Stef to be sad. "Just sometimes. There was a spare room we had to go into if we were going to get it."

The first time she'd found herself there, she had been grateful for privacy. However, she soon learned that it didn't make much of a difference. The room was at the very back of the house; its window looked out onto the backyard and beyond that was a busy road—meaning that no one with any power to help them could hear them. That was terrifying. At the same time, everyone else in the house could hear what was going on, and that awareness always took her shame to a new level. She knew for sure, because she could always hear when one of the others was in the room.

Stef waited with bated breath as she fought to maintain her composure. Stories of abuse were routine at work…but it was always different when it was your own children. She couldn't just de-personalize this.

"She wouldn't lock us in there like the guy at one home did," Callie reassured, seeing the confusion on her foster mother's face. "But she'd make us pull our pants down and everything," she recounted, sniffling.

"Oh, Cal…I'm so sorry, baby," the cop whispered, choking back her own tears. She really wanted to be strong for her daughter but was finding it difficult.

There was a long silence again before she felt comfortable enough to continue. "Mom?"

"Yes, my Bug?" Stef answered, contending with the experience of having her heart break and soar at the same time.

"One of the boys got the belt, but he was really bad. I never got that there. I was pretty good there," Callie said with pride.

"Oh my God…" Stef said softly, unable to stop herself from correcting her daughter. "Callie, my love…people are not good or bad. We talked about this. How—" She stopped to extricate her hand from the girl's grasp so she could tap her on the chest. "—worth is inside all of us. Good or bad behaviour does not touch this." She'd repeat herself until she was hoarse. Until Callie believed her so they could rewrite the narrative.

"And I don't know, or frankly, care what she said to you and Jude. But you are not bad. Jude is not bad. It's not wrong to wet a bed or make accidents, or to forget things," she whispered fiercely. She did not want Callie to harbour any confusion about what had taken place.

"A spanking is supposed to be for discipline, like what you told me your Mom would do if you misbehaved. It's done in the hope of teaching you something for your own good—to keep you safe, or help you be better in some way. It is not, Callie—it is not an avenue for someone to hurt you, or take out their anger and frustration on you. Because you inconvenienced them. I do not want you to think for a second that what happened to you and Jude in that home was okay or acceptable, or in any way deserved.

"This was wrong. It was so wrong, my love, and shouldn't have happened. I—I need you to tell me that you know that," she begged as she stroked Callie's cheek with her thumb.

Once again, Callie turned to look over her shoulder at the woman. It sounded a little bit like what her mother might have said if she were still around. "I know. Mama didn't do that and you didn't hurt me like that either," she said, not sure why it was being brought up again. She felt like she'd already reassured the cop.

Even without anyone telling them, she and Jude had always known that they'd been mistreated by their other caregivers. She had never once confused that with the actions of their Mom or Stef, though. They weren't abusive. She knew this because she didn't fear them in the same way.

It's wasn't like in previous homes where they had to quickly learn to be careful and to be afraid.

Where there were no moments of safety like the ones she had with Stef or Lena.

Where, if people were being nice, it was because there were visitors or Bill or a teacher around. And they knew that once the others went away, the kind voices of their foster parents would too.

Gutted by what her daughter had divulged, Stef leaned over her. She hugged her protectively and placed a kiss on her temple. "I am so sorry," she whispered. "I cannot imagine what that must have been like for you two and I wish someone could've been there to stop it."

"Mom?"

"Yes?"

"I thought it'd never get better. That no one would come."

The cop felt like someone had grabbed her by the throat. "I'm so sorry," she squeaked out, not sure what to say.

Callie snuggled against Stef's palm. ""I'm happy we don't have to live there anymore." Things were good here.

"Me too, baby. Me too."

"At the start of each shift, unit commanders must notify Payroll with a complete written list of employees eligible for shift and/or special assignment pay. Unit commanders (sworn or civilian) or another designated authority will review for accuracy by his/her signature and rank. Unit commanders must also indicate any changes in staffing to each employee's supervisor via completion of the Department's Transfer/Promotion Approval Forms. Failure to indicate staffing changes will impact the employee(s) from having his/her timecard approved and processed."

Feeling the girl slump against her, Stef stopped reading momentarily to listen for deep, steady breaths. Callie had stubbornly staved off sleep for another hour. Finally, after getting her to accept a cup of steamed milk, the cop had declared she had "work" to do. It'd been a ruse, of course; not knowing what else to try, she'd decided to read out loud in a last ditch effort to bore the child into a slumber. Reaching into the magazine rank, she'd fished out the most mundane piece of material in there—a printout of the San Diego Police Department's payroll procedures, which she had been asked to review since starting irregular shifts and doing more overtime.

Not wanting to take any chances, she continued to recite the text in a quiet, monotonous voice. "If an Overtime Authorization Request is submitted in any pay period other than the one in which the work was assigned, a signed memo by the commanding officer must be attached. Employees must code their timecard as 'Overtime premium' or 'Overtime straight' using the type box. They must indicate pay or compensatory time by using the following…"

Satisfied that Callie was finally asleep, she put the manual aside and carefully repositioned so she could lean against the couch arm. Digging out her phone from beneath the cushion, she pressed the home button to check the time. 04:39. She groaned; tomorrow—or rather, today—was going to be rough.

She wondered, as she thought of Callie's pattern of disrupted sleep, if their family doctor might consider prescribing a nighttime aid. Her hope evaporated when she realized it would be impossible to get the girl through an appointment, let alone cajole her into taking any medication. The kids didn't have much rapport with their GP. Because of this, she and Lena were still in the phase of bringing Callie and Jude in mostly for just-because type appointments—so they had opportunities to see doctors as being separate from medical procedures and negative events. The hope was that when they did need to go in for an appointment, it would be more routine. Less daunting.

Stef's worries only continued to bubble as she observed the girl in her slumber. Callie's lips were slightly parted, showing how chapped they were and making her question if she wasn't doing as well as she and Lena wanted to believe. They had, on occasion, caught her picking her lips. Each time, they had been careful not to make Callie feel as though she was doing anything wrong in favour of just monitoring things.

It made her wonder how much of a toll the transition into their home was having on her daughter. She was, however, relieved that Callie was opening up about past experiences.

Not wanting to disturb the girl so soon after being lulled to sleep, Stef clamped a hand over her mouth to hold in her cries.

"I wish we'd gotten you two right away," Stef whispered tearfully as she thought of how small the children had been when the abuse had happened. Pragmatically, she understood that none of this was her and Lena's fault. But the guilt and self-doubt over their past decisions were less forgiving.

So focused on settling Mariana and Jesus, they had let their fostering license expire for years until they were ready to renew. Meanwhile, Callie and Jude had been foisted into care, waiting for a family. They had needed them—more than she and Lena had needed that time to feel ready.

It was the could haves that were painful.

They could've welcomed Callie and Jude into their home earlier…

They could've ended the cycle of repeated placements and removals…

They could've spared them from years of abuse…

They could've prevented some of this damage…