I wipe a tear from my lashes.

September 7 (one year later)

I worried about Renee all summer. Did she have enough to eat? Did she have someone to read books to her? Did she have clean clothes? Was she alone?

When I saw her today, I was relieved. She came into my office, went to the cabinet, and sat down across from me with a box of crackers. She ate while we talked. She assured me that things are fine at home, but I know she’s lying. I know something is wrong.

October 10

I made a home visit to Renee’s house today. I know I’m not supposed to unless I’m on official school business, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted to see where she lives. I knocked on the door and waited, and Renee herself came and let me in. She smiled and looked relieved when she saw me, so I held up the fast food bag of hamburgers I’d brought with me. She took it and went to the table, where she set two places—one for me and one for her.

“That’s all for you,” I told her.

“But I w-want to share. You’ll stay l-longer if you have a full t-tummy.”

She was worried that I would leave.

“Where’s your mom?” I asked.

“She’s at w-work. She’ll be home l-later.”

“Are you alone?”

She smiled. “Not right n-now. You’re here.”

I left soon after that, but I sat outside until I saw her mother come home around midnight. She stumbled to the door, let herself in, and then I could see Renee put her to bed a few minutes later. Finally, Renee pulled the curtains, and I couldn’t see anything else.

I went home with a heavy heart.

December 12

I feel really bad about doing it, but I reported Renee’s living situation to Social Services today. She’s alone almost all of the time. She doesn’t have a babysitter, and she has to come to my office every day just so she can have lunch. I have started bringing twice the food for lunch just so I can feed her.

I never knew she did that. She always told me she just wasn’t hungry.

December 23

Renee came to my office today. She was carrying a tiny package wrapped in tissue paper. “M-m-merry C-c-christmas,” she finally got out. I took it and exclaimed over the beautiful wrapping, and she blushed, but she was pleased too, I could tell.

I opened it up to find a small clay dish. I know all the kids made them in art class as presents for their parents, but this one was special. I flipped it over and saw her name etched in pencil on the bottom.

“I can’t take this,” I told her. “You should give it to someone you love.” I tried to hand it back to her, although I wanted to keep it more than anything.

“I d-did,” she said quietly. Then she left my office. I probably won’t see her again until the new year.

I read and read and read, wiping tears from my eyes as I turn the pages. I stop when I get to four years later.

March 4

Social Services had to take action today. They have done numerous home visits over the past four years, but Renee keeps falling through the cracks. Her mother refuses to put her in speech therapy, and I am still feeding her every day (although, truly, I don’t want to stop that, ever). That little girl has more compassion in her little finger than most people have in their whole body. I envy her. I envy the fact that she can take so little and turn it into so much.

But Social Services couldn’t ignore it four days ago when Renee had an attack of appendicitis. I had to take her to the hospital myself and no one could find her mother. For four days, they searched. Renee didn’t seem to mind. She is apparently used to it.

She’s currently in a group home. It hurts my heart to know that she’s there, but she needs to be somewhere that someone can care for her. I stop by every few days just to be sure she’s okay, and she’s still smiling.

The girls who share her room are some characters. The five of them have formed a bond. I’m glad she has them in her life. And I hope a family comes forward for her soon, because if anyone deserves a happy life, it’s this little girl.

(four months later)

I went to the courthouse today to watch the Vasquez family finalize the proceedings for adoption. They didn’t adopt just Renee. They adopted all five of the girls. They asked her if she wanted to take their last name, and she said she wanted a new first and last name, not just a last name. So they talked it out, and all five girls get brand new starts. I know with all my heart that Renee—no, she’s not Renee anymore—I know that Peck will be loved beyond boundaries. She will be cherished. She will be fed. She will be protected.

She’s learning to play the drums, and I’m so proud of her. She goes after what she wants. I wish everyone had her strength and the ability to persevere.

My only wish for her is that she holds on to that fighting spirit, for it will take her far.

There are a few more entries, like the one about our first concert. She was on the front row at that one, screaming louder than anyone in the auditorium.

(the last entry)

Peck is all grown up. She’s strong, faithful, and most of all, she is loved. My job is done. I will go home tonight and hug my own son a little harder. And I will pray that if he ever finds himself alone, that someone will step up to help him.

Peck, when she finally settles down and marries, will need someone as strong-willed as she is, but someone who has a gentle side. She needs someone who will cherish the words that still stick on her tongue, and someone who will be okay with it if she just sits quietly. He will have to be a special man, but I doubt any of it will come easily. She will have to fight for the right one. I just hope she’s capable. I hope she doesn’t let fear or doubt overwhelm her. I hope she goes for it. Because I know she can.