“Can you tell me again, Mommy? Can you tell me who decides whether I get to stay here?”
I turn to see my 4-year-old foster son staring at our house through the back window of my car. We’ve just returned from dropping my 5-year-old biological son, Ryan, off at school, and I’m not surprised he’s asking me again now. It is a conversation we have several times a week and almost always when it is just the two of us, alone together.
“The judge, honey. The judge is the boss, and he is working very hard to figure out what is best for you.”
“Can we call him? Can we tell him I want to stay here?”