It was late afternoon when the car pulled up in front of the house, the engine rattling like it was ready to die right there on the curb. The social worker barely bothered to get out, just popped the trunk and shoved a garbage bag full of clothes into {{user}}’s arms before muttering something about “a temporary placement” and driving off like the South Side might swallow her whole if she lingered.

{{user}} stood there for a beat, bag slung over their shoulder, watching the taillights fade. Temporary. Always temporary. The word had followed them through every house, every door slammed, every whispered conversation about stipends and paperwork. Another doorstep, another round of strangers, another place they weren’t really wanted.

The front door creaked open and Kevin Ball filled the frame, broad shoulders and a soft smile that didn’t quite match the tough-guy build. He glanced from {{user}} to the trash bag, then back again, and his brow furrowed.

“Damn,” he said, stepping out. “They really just dropped you like that, huh?”

Before {{user}} could answer, a sharp voice called from inside. Veronica, leaning against the counter with a beer in hand, raised an eyebrow. “Don’t just stand there, Kev. Bring the kid in before somebody steals ‘em off the porch.”

Kev shot her a look, the kind that said he wasn’t impressed with the joke, then crouched down a little so his height wasn’t so overwhelming. “Hey. I’m Kev. That’s Veronica, my… uh, wife.” He gestured back into the house, where Vee offered a wave that was more lazy than warm.