Chapter 4 - THE THOUGHT I WAS ASHAMED TO SAY OUT LOUD
I called a therapist.
Not because a judge made me.
Because the thought about foster care terrified me.
I told her everything.
Not polished.
Not:
“I’m overwhelmed.”
The real sentence.
“There was a night I thought maybe my son would be safer if I gave him away.”
She did not look horrified.
That almost made me angry.
“Do you think I’m dangerous?”
She asked:
“Did you want to hurt Caleb?”
“No.”
“Did you make a plan to abandon him somewhere?”
“No.”
“I wanted somebody else to be better at this.”
“That sounds like exhaustion and hopelessness. We still take it seriously.”
That was exactly what I needed.
Serious without condemnation.
We discussed sleep.
Finances.
Support.
What I would do if the thought became stronger.
Who I could call.
The county’s childcare-resource office.
Food assistance eligibility.
A community program offering short-term transportation help.
None of it magically fixed my life.
It gave me options other than collapse.
I had been treating help as one category:
Sarah’s money.
That was Leo’s system too.
Ask Sarah.
Borrow.
Hide.
Repeat.
Actual support was messier and healthier.
Applications.
Waiting lists.
Payment plans.
Direct providers.
Written rules.
The daycare allowed me to pay the $150 balance over three weeks.
My insurance approved the windshield replacement subject to the $500 deductible.
The glass company offered two payments.
Jenna drove me to work.
My manager adjusted my shifts temporarily.
Every piece was small.
Together, they looked like a bridge.
Then Leo called.
“I want Caleb tonight.”
I kept my voice calm.
“You can see him.”
“I said I want him overnight.”
He was his father.
He had cared for Caleb many times.
There was no court order saying otherwise.
But our apartment situation was unstable, and I needed legal advice before turning every disagreement into a custody war.
“I want us to agree on something consistent.”
“You’re using him against me.”
“No.”
“You took him.”
“For one night.”
“It’s been three.”
Because Leo refused to discuss anything except me returning.
I called a family-law legal aid office.
They explained that as unmarried parents in Ohio, legal rights could depend on established parentage and existing orders. Leo was on Caleb’s birth certificate, but I needed specific advice rather than assumptions.
So I got it.
Not exciting.
Necessary.
We eventually agreed informally, through text, that Leo would have Caleb Saturday during the day while I worked.
Sarah would handle pickup and drop-off so neither of us turned the child exchange into an argument.
Leo hated that.
Which told me it was probably wise.
Saturday evening Caleb came back happy.
“Daddy park.”
Good.
I wanted that.
I wanted my son to have a father.
I simply no longer wanted his father running my bank account, my confidence, and my definition of motherhood.
Then Sarah called.
“You need to see another message.”
My stomach sank.
“What now?”
She forwarded a text Leo sent her five months earlier.
Mia had another breakdown. Says she might give Caleb to strangers because she can’t handle motherhood.
I stopped breathing.
I had never said that to Leo five months earlier.
The foster-care thought happened only last week.
“What breakdown?”
“I asked him that.”
Sarah forwarded her reply:
Is Mia safe? Is Caleb safe?
Leo:
They’re fine. She just does this when she’s stressed. Don’t bring it up. She gets embarrassed.
I stared at the screen.
Leo had been telling people I was psychologically unstable before I ever admitted feeling that way.
He had been building a version of me.
May you like
One that made every crisis my fault.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the financial chaos around me had always been chaos.
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