As a policeman, I often deal with people in distress. My husband tolerates my hobby of bringing home boys that need a warm place to sleep, a shower, and a hot meal before going on their way. We live in a sprawling manor on Cape Cod that he inherited from his parents. It was built for a different era when people entertained, so a lot of the rooms are empty most of the year anyway.
Tonight, I came home with these two. My precinct had busted a white slave trade ring operating out of the harbor, male and female merchandise bound for Europe. All the victims we rescued just wanted to go home, but not these two. They said they bonded together while in foster care and ran away from an abusive caregiver. They had no one missing them back in Maine, and we had all these rooms… they didn’t need to move on, they needed to go to school, recover.
“Can we keep them, honey? Pleeaaaase? I’ll take real good care of em.”