“Help me,” you whispered, so lowly Travis might not have caught it. “I can’t stay here.”

The wind howled wherever he was outside of camp, and car horns blared in the background. Outside of your bedroom, your dad raged in the hallway, steadily making his way to your room. One by one, thick bangs indicated new holes in walls. Rachel (your foster mom) was screaming, too, but not in anger—she was pleading with him to stop, as the baby screamed like he never had before.

That had set him off—Finney’s screaming in the night. Maybe it was a nightmare, or maybe he was in pain. Nothing changed. And you had no control over it.

“How far even is Sydney from here?” Travis asked desperately, exhaling slowly. “Like, a day’s flight?”