A cold anger settled in Tom’s chest.
“Where’s your family?”
“My aunt left,” Abby said. “She said she was going to Houston for work. She sold the furniture. Locked the house. She hasn’t come back.”
Abandoned.
“You’re not going back there,” Tom said firmly. “You’re staying here.”
Abby’s eyes widened, as if staying was something she wasn’t allowed to accept.
“I’ll work for it—”
“You’ll help around the ranch,” Margaret said gently when she met her. “But you’ll also be a child.”
They took both children to Dr. Samuel Carter, the local physician. Lucas was underweight and behind on vaccinations. Abby showed exhaustion and mild malnutrition—but the baby was clean and cared for.
“She’s been acting as his mother,” Dr. Carter said quietly. “That’s obvious.”
Tom and Margaret contacted attorney James Whitaker to begin emergency guardianship paperwork.
But two weeks later, a polished sedan pulled up the dirt driveway. A sharply dressed couple stepped out.
“We’re family,” the man announced smoothly. “Christopher and Laura Turner. We’re here for the children.”
Their paperwork was questionable, but official enough to raise concern. Abby immediately clung to Margaret’s side.
“I don’t know them,” she whispered.
Despite that, a temporary custody order was issued pending investigation. Abby and Lucas were taken.
Abby’s cries echoed in Tom’s ears long after the car disappeared down the road.
“Please don’t let them keep us,” she had begged.
At Christopher and Laura’s house, the rooms were warm but the atmosphere was not. Abby was expected to clean and cook. She was scolded for “eating too much.” Lucas was treated like an inconvenience.
One night, Abby overheard hushed voices.
“The baby could bring in good money,” Laura muttered. “And the girl too, if we handle it right.”
Abby’s stomach turned cold.
When Lucas was denied milk and told to “make do with sugar water,” Abby made her choice. After midnight, she wrapped him tightly in blankets and slipped out into the freezing Texas darkness. She walked for miles, guided by memory and fear.
Just before dawn, Tom heard crying near the barn.
He rushed outside.
Abby stood there again—paler than before, dark circles under her eyes, faint bruises marking her small arms.
“We couldn’t stay,” she sobbed. “They didn’t care about us.”