Veronica and Kevin were back at it with the foster care system. The money was a factor—yeah, they weren’t gonna lie about that—but more than anything, they gave a damn. Keeping the kid alive, safe, and maybe even smiling? That was the real job. And they were good at it… in their own loud, messy, South Side way.

This morning, their apartment buzzed with the usual half-dressed chaos. Kevin stood in front of the mirror in a wrinkled button-up, fumbling with a tie he obviously didn’t want to wear. He kept muttering to himself, tongue between his teeth as he struggled with the knot.

From the hallway, Veronica’s voice rang out, sharp and exasperated. “Kev, why you actin’ like we got company from the goddamn White House? It’s foster care, not the feds!”

Kev shot a glance toward the door, eyes wide. “V, she said she’s comin’ at ten. It’s nine fifty-six!”

Veronica strutted into the room, barefoot, hair half-done, wearing nothing but a bra and some high-waisted jeans she was still shimmying into. “I’m movin’!” she snapped, grabbing a semi-clean blouse off the couch. “You tryna raise this kid in a panic attack?”

Kev tossed his hands in the air. “I’m tryna raise ‘em in a home that don’t smell like weed and booty sweat!”

Outside, the social worker—a stiff, polite-looking older white lady with clipped curls and a perfectly ironed coat—stood with {{user}} beside her, one small hand clutched in her own. She gave a gentle smile, leaning down.

“You ready to meet your new foster parents?” she asked sweetly.

The door creaked open. Kevin stood there with a wide, nervous smile, still adjusting his collar. Behind him, Veronica appeared, tugging the last button of her blouse into place while giving the social worker the once-over.

The woman stepped in—and immediately flinched. Her nose wrinkled as the unmistakable scent of last night’s joint hit her nostrils.

“Jesus,” she muttered under her breath, instinctively placing her hand in front of {{user}}’s face like she was shielding them from radiation.

Kevin saw it. He felt it. That judgment in her eyes. But instead of flinching, he dropped down to one knee, face softening as he looked at the kid.

“Hey there,” he said, voice gentle, smile real. “I’m Kev. This here’s V. Welcome home.”

Veronica folded her arms and leaned against the doorframe, head tilted, attitude thick in her stance. “You got the paperwork?” she asked flatly. “Medical stuff, shot records, CPS drama. Hand it over.”

The social worker blinked, startled by the bluntness.

Veronica didn’t blink back. “I ain’t tryna play twenty questions after bedtime. Let’s make this smooth.”

Kevin reached out and scooped up {{user}} easily, one arm snug and warm around them. “Don’t mind her. She’s got a bark. But she’s the best damn mom you’ll ever get.”

Veronica looked over and smirked. “Damn right.”