Chapter Text
The ringing of her cell phone woke Juliann from a solid slumber. She groaned, and reaching over both dogs on her bed, grabbed the ringing device and answered with a sleep slurred “hello”.
“This is Social Worker Andrea McLaurin with the Rockford County Department of Health and Human Services Child Protective Services. Is this Juliann Gray?” The voice on the other end asked. It took a few seconds for Juliann to process the person and the question asked.
“This is she. May I ask why you’re calling me at 5:00am on a Wednesday?” She responded, not amused to be woken up in the wee hours of the morning.
“I’m calling in reference to a child named Cairo Josiah Davison. Are you familiar with this child?”
“He’s my godson. Is he okay?”
“There’s been an incident involving his parents. He’s currently at Bright Hall Children’s Hospital emergency room. There are a lot of concerns about his health.”
“Where are his parents? Where are Amelia and Jacob? Why is CPS involved?” Juliann demanded, sitting up and rubbing her eyes.
“Unfortunately, Ms. Amelia Davison has been arrested and the father, Mr. Jacob Royce is dead. Can I ask you when the last time you saw Cairo or spoke to Ms. Davison or Mr. Royce?”
“Umm it’s been about 4, almost 4 and a half months since I saw Cairo. I’ve been worried about him. I haven’t been able to get in touch with Amelia or Jacob.” Juliann’s concern was steadily growing the more the social worker spoke.
“Why were you worried?”
“I was suspicious that Amelia was using again when she and Jacob got back together. I told her the last time I had Cairo that I was worried about her and worried that he had lost weight. She told me she couldn’t afford formula so my mom and I bought her like 6 cans and some groceries. I tried to get ahold of her after that every week and she hasn’t responded. I went by their apartment a couple times but they were apparently evicted. All her mom would tell me was I “needed to mind my own business”. I called in a police report for a welfare check last month but they couldn’t find Amelia or Cairo,” Juliann reported, now awake and feeling her anxiety flood her body.
“And that was about four and a half months ago? How old was Cairo?”
“He was roughly 7 months old. Listen, I don’t mean to be disrespectful but how does this matter? Can I come be with Cairo? Please Ms. McLaurin!” There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Juliann put her feet on the floor and stood up. She felt a sinking pit in her stomach.
“Ms. Davison has suggested you as a placement for Cairo. I know this is the middle of the night but are you open to being a placement for him? We are going to allow you to come stay with Cairo in the hospital regardless of your answer. He’s being admitted to the Pediatric ICU.”
“Yes absolutely. I love that little boy with all my heart,” Juliann blurted.
“After you get here, I am planning to leave so I can file the petition for foster care. The day shift worker will be assigned by 10am and they’ll contact you to set up something called a kinship assessment. We already have a background check completed on you and the new worker will let you know what other documentation they will need from you,” Social worker McLaurin told her. Juliann turned her bedroom light on, ignoring the discontented grunts from the two dogs on the bed.
“I’ll be there in about half an hour. Thank you,” she said, already stripping her pajamas off. The social worker hung up and Juliann called her mom. Unsurprisingly, her mother, Elizabeth, answered. Juliann gave her a brief rundown of the conversation and asked her to come get Echo (a 5 year old Belgian Malinois) and Atlas (an 8 month old German Shepherd) in the morning. Her mom agreed and said she would be there by 6.
The 25 year old threw on a pair of sweatpants, socks, a bra, a tee shirt and a hoodie before letting her dogs into the backyard. She hurriedly brushed her teeth and her hair and threw a few things into a large backpack, remembering at the last second to include something to eat and drink, and let the dogs back in. Echo and Atlas were locked in their respective crates with a chew toy and she was running out the door.
Twenty five minutes after hanging up with the social worker, Juliann parked her car in the visitors parking deck near the main hospital entrance. She took a deep breath to try and calm her nerves and racing heart. She sent a quick text to her boss, letting her know the situation and asking for the rest of the week off.
The sliding glass doors of Bright Hall Children’s Hospital whooshed open as Juliann stepped into the lobby. The fluorescent lights were harsh after the dark drive, and the antiseptic smell hit her immediately. She headed straight for the front desk, clutching her backpack like a lifeline.
“Hi, I’m here to see my godson, Cairo Davison. CPS told me he’s in the Pediatric ICU.”
The receptionist glanced at her computer, then picked up the phone. After a brief conversation, she nodded and gestured toward the elevators.
“Take those up to the third floor. Someone will meet you there.”
Juliann barely nodded before rushing to the elevator, her breath short, heart thudding. The ride felt like it took an hour. When the doors opened on the third floor, a nurse in soft blue scrubs was waiting.
“You’re Juliann Gray?” the nurse asked gently.
“Yes.”
“Come with me.” Her voice was kind, but her eyes were somber.
They walked down a quiet corridor filled with low, rhythmic beeping and the occasional hiss of a ventilator. The nurse stopped at a room near the end of the hall and pushed open the door.
The sight stole the air from Juliann’s lungs.
Cairo looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, dwarfed by wires, tubes, and machines. His skin was ashen, lips slightly cracked. A nasal cannula delivered oxygen, and an IV ran into his tiny arm. A heart monitor beeped steadily beside him. His curly black hair was matted, and there were faint bruises along his temple and cheek.
Juliann’s knees buckled slightly, and she gripped the edge of a nearby chair to keep from collapsing.
“Oh my God,” she whispered, stepping into the room numbly.
“He’s stable right now,” the nurse said quietly.
“But he’s been through a lot. Severe dehydration, malnutrition, some untreated injuries. We’re still waiting on a full report from the pediatric team.”
Juliann moved to the bed and gently took Cairo’s hand, careful not to disturb the IV. His fingers were cold, and she could feel the faint tremble of his pulse.
“I’m here, baby,” she said softly. “You’re not alone. Auntie Jules is right here.”
She sat beside him, unable to stop the tears that rolled down her cheeks. All the fear, guilt, and helplessness she’d been carrying for months now had a face. A tiny, bruised, sleeping face.
“I should’ve tried harder,” she whispered, brushing a curl off his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
The nurse placed a box of tissues on the table beside her and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He’s lucky to have you.”
Juliann didn’t feel lucky. She felt shattered.
But she would hold herself together for him.
Juliann didn’t know how long she sat there, holding Cairo’s fragile hand against her chest, her tears soaking into his hospital gown. The machines kept beeping—steady but impersonal—reminding her that Cairo’s fight for life was still on someone else’s terms.
A quiet knock at the door pulled her from her haze. A tall woman in a white coat stepped in, clutching a clipboard. Her face was calm, but her eyes carried the weight of bad news.
“Ms. Gray?” she asked gently.
Juliann nodded, brushing at her face with her sleeve. “Yes.”
“I’m Dr. Moreno. I’m one of the attending physicians in the Pediatric ICU. Can we talk for a few minutes?”
Juliann shifted, placing Cairo’s hand gently on the bed, careful of the tubes, then stood, wiping her hands on her hoodie. “Yes, please. I need to know everything.”
Dr. Moreno stepped closer, glancing at the monitors, then back at Juliann.
“Cairo’s stable, but he’s in critical condition. He came in with severe dehydration and signs of prolonged malnutrition. He also has multiple untreated injuries—some healed improperly, some recent. Bruising around his ribs and abdomen, a fractured wrist that had not been set, and healing abrasions consistent with neglect. We’re doing everything we can.”
Juliann covered her mouth as another wave of tears hit.
“He’s only a baby,” she whispered. Dr. Moreno’s voice softened.
“I know. He’s tough, though. He’s responding to fluids and nutrition, and we’ve started him on pain management and antibiotics. Our trauma team and social services are both involved, and he’ll be closely monitored over the next several days.”
Juliann nodded, trying to process each word, but they all blurred together.
“I... I should have pushed harder. I should’ve done more.”
“You did what you could,” Dr. Moreno said.
The door creaked open again, and her mother peeked in. “Jules?”
Juliann turned, her composure crumbling. She hadn’t expected her mom to show up so soon.
“Mom.” Her voice cracked. Tears blurred her vision and she could faintly remember the doctor leaving the room.
Elizabeth hurried across the room and wrapped her arms around her daughter. “Oh, sweetheart…”
Juliann sobbed into her mother’s shoulder, letting everything she had bottled up spill out.
“He’s so small. And broken. And I don’t know how he’s even still here.”
Elizabeth held her tighter.
“He’s still here because he’s strong. And because you didn’t give up.”
After a few moments, Juliann pulled away, sniffling. “They said he was starved, Mom. His little bones…” She paused to catch her breath. “They think they broke his wrist and just left it.”
Elizabeth’s eyes welled up. “Then he needs you now more than ever.”
A knock on the already open door interrupted them. A woman in business casual attire stepped in with a blue backpack, clipboard decorated with stickers, and a sympathetic expression.
“Hi, Ms. Gray. I’m Tanisha Marks, the day shift worker from CPS assigned to this case. Andrea McLaurin briefed me. I wanted to check in and schedule a time to meet at your home today so we can begin your kinship assessment.”
Juliann straightened up, wiping her face. “Yes, absolutely. When?”
“Would noon work? I’ll just need access to your home, check out the sleeping arrangements for Cairo, and gather basic documents.”
“I’ll be there,” Juliann said firmly. “Whatever it takes.”
Tanisha smiled gently.
“You’re doing great, Ms. Gray. Hang in there.” She spent several moments with Cairo, taking various pictures of him from different angles quietly before turning to leave.
As the door shut behind her, Juliann turned back to her godson, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I’m not going anywhere, little man. Not now, not ever.” Cairo shifted slightly in his sleep while Juliann and her mother looked on. The time passed slowly. Cairo remained asleep and nurses flittered in and out of the room. Juliann stayed near his crib, holding his tiny hand. Around 11, Elizabeth sent Juliann home to get ready for the social worker.
Juliann arrived home just a few minutes before noon, the weight of the morning still pressing heavily on her chest. The house was quieter than usual—too quiet. Without the jingling of Echo’s tags or the click of Atlas’s oversized paws on the hardwood floors, everything felt still and unnatural.
She dropped her bag by the door, put her water bottle in the kitchen and braced her arms on the counter. She took in a deep breath, trying to simultaneously wake up and calm her body down from the anxiety she was feeling.
The knock at the door came right on time.
Juliann opened it to find Tanisha Marks standing there with a clipboard, her bookbag slung over one shoulder, and a calm, professional smile on her face.
“Hi again, Ms. Gray. Thanks for letting me stop by today.”
“Of course, come on in,” Juliann said, stepping aside. “The house is quieter than normal. My dogs are staying with my parents until things calm down.”
“Probably a smart move—less chaos for now.” Tanisha nodded as she stepped inside.
Juliann led her through the living room, which was modest but clean. The soft gray sectional with cozy blankets, TV stand, and bookshelves full of pictures gave it a warm, lived-in feel. A few toys and baby supplies still sat in a basket near the fireplace, a quiet echo of Cairo’s last visit months ago. Pictures of him decorated the wall in the hall from his first week of life until his 8th month.
“I’ve lived here for about three years,” Juliann said. “My mortgage is $1500 a month.”
“That’s great,” Tanisha replied, jotting notes on her home study form. “Home stability is a strong factor for placement.”
Tanisha moved through the house methodically, snapping photos of each room: the kitchen, the hall bathroom, and the garage. When they reached the backyard, she noted the fully fenced yard with a nod of approval.
“My dogs usually have free run out here—Echo’s five, and Atlas is still a baby, just eight months,” Juliann explained. “They’re both vaccinated, crate-trained, and good with kids. I can send over the vet records if you need them.”
“Perfect. I’ll make you get my card with all of my information on it before I leave,” Tanisha said, making a note in her paperwork.
They paused in the hallway outside the bedrooms.
“This is my room,” Juliann said, opening the door. The room was neat, a sign Elizabeth had tidied up when she picked the dogs up. The adjustable king size bed was made with a blue comforter. The rocker/recliner in the corner held another cozy looking blanket and the TV was turned off.
“When Cairo stayed with me before, we co-slept most of the time. He does have a crib in one of the other rooms along with a dresser. I ordered him some new clothes earlier. I had given his parents what I had the last time I saw him,” Juliann admitted, brushing a hand over the fuzzy green blanket on her chair.
Tanisha looked around the room and nodded thoughtfully.
“Yes, for safety, we need him to have a dedicated sleep space. That could be the crib or a pack and play set up in here,” she stated as she took a few photos of the room and bathroom. Juliann showed her the baby bath products under the sink.
She gestured toward the second and third bedrooms. One held the dog crates, a desk, computer, and a treadmill; the other held Cairo’s rarely used crib and his dresser. There was another rocking chair and some toys on the floor.
“This looks like a good set up for Cairo,” Tanisha said approvingly, looking at the sign with his name on the wall and the infant carseat in the corner.
“I want him to feel like this is his home,” Juliann replied softly.
Tanisha smiled. “That’s the goal.”
Back in the kitchen, Juliann pulled out a folder she used to keep all her important documents organized. Inside were copies of her driver’s license, vehicle registration, insurance documents, and homeowner’s insurance. She also included a copy of her last few paystubs.
Tanisha looked them over and nodded. She spent a few minutes open the cupboards, checking the eyes on the stove, turning the water on, and examining the contents of the fridge. She explained the need to check that all utilities were in working order, that there was food in the home, and no evidence of substances.
“Everything looks good. I’ll scan and submit these today. One more thing—do you think you’ll need daycare once Cairo is discharged?”
“Eventually, yes. I work full-time from home, but I’m planning to take some leave at first. Once he’s stable, I’ll definitely need childcare support. I know my mom would be able to help if needed,” Juliann replied.
“We can definitely help with that. You’ll need to identify a daycare that is 3 stars or better that takes a childcare voucher. We pay the monthly fee but you’ll need to pay the enrollment fee. It can take around 30 days for that to be approved so I will get that submitted once you’ve identified the daycare,” Tanisha responded with a smile.
She looked up from her clipboard and offered Juliann a warm, sincere smile. “I am very impressed with your efficiency and organization Today’s visit will go a long way toward getting placement approved—hopefully by tomorrow. I just need to staff this with my supervisor and the foster care worker.”
“Thank you,” Juliann said, exhaling slowly.
Tanisha stood and gathered her things.
“I’ll check in tomorrow after court. And if you need anything in the meantime—supplies, support, even just someone to call—don’t hesitate.”
After the door closed behind her, Juliann stood in the quiet of her kitchen for a long moment. The silence didn’t feel so heavy this time—it felt like a breath before the next step.
As soon as Tanisha’s car pulled away from the curb, Juliann collapsed onto the couch, pulling her phone into her lap. She stared at the screen for a moment, unsure if she wanted to talk to anyone—then decided she didn’t need to talk. A few texts would do.
“Home visit done. Everything went well. Will know more tomorrow.”
Seconds later, her mom responded.
Mom (Elizabeth):
Thank God. House was spotless. You did great. Cairo is lucky to have you. I’ll wait until you get here before I leave.
Dad (James): Proud of you, Jules. Keep your chin up. Let me know if you need help with anything.
Joshy: You’re seriously the toughest person I know. Let me know if you want me to drop off meals or run errands this week.
Hunter: Do you need money for anything? Clothes, diapers, formula? I can Venmo right now.
Wesley: Let me know when Cairo’s home. Jessa’s going to get the dogs from the house tonight.
Juliann smiled faintly, her throat tightening with emotion. She replied:
Juliann: Love you all. I’m okay right now. Thanks, mom, for picking up for me!
She put her phone down, stood up, and stretched. There was still so much to do. She headed to the bathroom and peeled off her hoodie and leggings, stepping under the warm stream of the shower. For a moment, it was just her and the water, washing away the hospital smell, the fear, and the long hours of tension. She quickly washed and brushed her teeth before stepping out of the shower.
After drying off and pulling her hair into a loose braid, she slipped into fresh track pants and a soft, oversized t-shirt. She added a zip-up hoodie, then walked into the kitchen.
She packed a small bag: two granola bars, a banana, a bottle of water, and a small container of pasta she could heat in the hospital family lounge. She double-checked her backpack—laptop, charger, chapstick, notebook, wallet, tissues—then slung it over her shoulder. She added her favorite Sparkling Ice energy drinks to the side pocket and filled her water bottle with fresh ice and water. After a moment’s thought, she grabbed Cairo’s favorite stuffed giraffe, his favorite blanket, and a large blanket for her to use.
By 2:00pm, she was back in the car and headed to the hospital. She stopped and got a sandwich on the way, downing a Dr. Pepper with her lunch. She got a cup of coffee for her mom to say thank you for all her help and was back at the hospital by 2:45pm.
The soft beep of machines and the steady whoosh of air filled the dim PICU room as Juliann quietly pushed open the door. Cairo’s small form was now nestled under a hospital blanket, monitors covering far too much of his fragile body. The sight made her chest ache all over again.
Elizabeth looked up from the bedside chair and gave a weary smile. Her hand rested gently on Cairo’s blanket covered leg.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she whispered. Juliann handed her the coffee and stood at the foot of the bed.
“Hey. You okay?” she asked, setting her bag down and taking a deep breath.
Her mom stood and gently brushed her hand over Juliann’s arm.
“I’m okay. He’s been stable. His nurse, Sasha, came in once to adjust something, but otherwise he’s just been sleeping.” Her voice cracked slightly. “It’s hard to look at him like this. I’m so used to seeing him being active and happy.”
Juliann wrapped her arms around her mom tightly. “Thank you for staying with him.”
“Of course.” Elizabeth kissed her temple. “Call me if anything changes, okay? Wesley said he would bring your packages in later today if they’re there when he picks the dogs up.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you more.”
Her mom gave one more kiss to Cairo’s forehead and slipped out quietly, leaving Juliann alone in the soft hum of the hospital room. She settled into the chair next to Cairo’s bed and gently took his hand in hers, careful not to jostle any of the delicate tubing. Her heart ached as she studied his face—too ashen, too still.
A few minutes later, a quiet knock broke the silence, and Dr. Ana Moreno stepped into the room, her white coat slightly rumpled from a long shift but her demeanor calm and warm.
“Hi again, Ms. Gray,” she said, offering a small smile. “I figured I’d stop back now that you’re settled. Thought we could talk a little more in-depth.”
Juliann nodded. “Yes, thank you. I was hoping you’d come back by.”
Dr. Moreno pulled up a chair beside her.
“So, like I mentioned earlier this morning—Cairo is stable. His vitals have remained consistent throughout the day, and the fluids and nutrition we’ve started are beginning to help. But I want to be honest with you about what we’re seeing.”
Juliann braced herself and tried to quell the mounting anxiety.
“He’s showing signs of prolonged malnutrition. His weight is well below the 5th percentile, and there are indicators of muscle wasting and anemia. The concern now is what impact this might have had on his development—especially cognitive and motor milestones.” Dr. Moreno’s voice was measured but kind.
“Can it be reversed?” Juliann felt a lump settle in her throat.
“To a degree, yes. Young children are incredibly resilient, but it will take time, early intervention, and close monitoring. He may need therapies—speech, occupational, possibly physical. And there may be challenges. But the earlier we start, the better his chances.”
Juliann nodded, wiping at her face with the tissues from her bag.
“Whatever he needs, I’ll do it. I just want him to have a healthy future.”
“He’s already ahead,” Dr. Moreno said gently.
“He has someone who loves him and is fighting for him. That’s more than a lot of kids have.” There was a beat of quiet.
“Would you like to hold him?” Dr. Moreno offered. “It helps. We encourage it. Talk to him, let him hear your voice. It can make a bigger difference than you think.”
“Yes,” Juliann whispered, already rising. Dr. Moreno instructed her to sit down in the reclining chair in the room. A nurse, presumably Sasha, came in to help, carefully guiding Cairo into Juliann’s arms, adjusting wires and positioning monitors as Juliann settled into the recliner.
He was light. Too light. But the warmth of his little body against hers made her chest tighten in the best and worst way. The nurse handed her the blanket from home and draped it over them.
She tucked the blanket around them both and cradled him close. Her lips brushed the top of his head.
“You’re safe now, Cairo,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
Juliann shifted slightly in the recliner, her arms wrapped protectively around Cairo’s tiny frame. His head rested against her chest, his breathing shallow but even. The quiet hum of machines filled the room, broken only by the occasional click of monitors and the soft rustle of fabric.
Dr. Moreno and the nurse stood a few feet away, finishing their charting and preparing to give her and Cairo some quiet time—when suddenly, Juliann felt a slight movement against her. She glanced down. Cairo’s fingers twitched. His body shifted the smallest bit against hers.
“Doctor,” she whispered urgently. “I think he’s moving.”
Dr. Moreno was at her side in seconds, her hand gentle on Cairo’s back as she leaned in to assess. The nurse dimmed the lights even further and moved to the monitors, watching the subtle changes in vitals. His heartbeat seemed to calm significantly the longer he was held.
Cairo let out the faintest sigh, followed by a broken, wheezy sound that might’ve been a whimper—or the beginning of a cry. His small hand clutched at Juliann’s blanket.
“It’s okay, handsome,” Juliann murmured, her heart racing. “I’m here. It’s me. You’re safe now.”
His eyelids fluttered, struggling under the weight of exhaustion and sedation. But there was something there—some flicker of recognition that made Juliann tighten her hold just a little. He turned into her, almost pressing his nose into her shirt and inhaling.
“It’s common for children to take time waking up fully after this kind of trauma and treatment,” Dr. Moreno said softly, kneeling down to Cairo’s level. “Let’s see…”
She gently pulled back Cairo’s blanket, listening with her stethoscope, then peeled open one of his eyelids with practiced care. “Pupils are reactive… breathing’s still shallow, but he’s trying. This is a good sign.”
And then it happened. With great effort, Cairo blinked—once, twice—and his eyes finally opened.
Dark brown. Deep and soulful. Still groggy and unfocused, but unmistakably alert.
He looked up at Juliann.
She gasped, emotion catching in her throat as her blue eyes locked with his.
“There you are,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Hi, handsome. Hello.” She used one hand to cradle his face gently, mindful of the oxygen and bruising.
Cairo’s lips parted slightly. No words, no sound—but his eyes didn’t leave hers. The doctor stood, motioning for the nurse to step back and give them space.
“This is an excellent sign. Let him stay with you. Keep talking to him. That connection—it matters.”
Juliann nodded without looking away from Cairo. Her palm gently rubbed his back, and she pressed a kiss to his temple.
And in that quiet room, lit only by soft monitors and a motherly love stronger than fear, Cairo blinked slowly again… and didn’t look away.
A gentle knock on the door preceded Nurse Sasha’s quiet entrance. She offered a warm smile as she carried a small, warmed bottle in one hand, the label marked with Cairo’s name and a timestamp.
“Hey, Juliann,” she said softly. “Let’s try a little feeding, if he’s up for it. Just a few milliliters to start. We’ll go slow.”
Juliann adjusted Cairo slightly in her arms as Sasha approached, settling him more upright and brushing his curls back from his forehead. He was still weak, eyes half-lidded, but alert enough now to track movement—and to let out a soft, raspy whine at the scent of the bottle.
“Okay, handsome,” Juliann whispered. “Let’s see if you can handle this, hmm?”
Sasha handed her the bottle and stood close, watching carefully. Juliann careful ran the nipple of the bottle over his cheek and watched him turn to it, opening his mouth and latching. His suckling was uncoordinated. After a few shallow pulls, he coughed, sputtering, the formula dribbling down his chin. Juliann hurriedly removed the bottle.
“Easy, baby. Easy.” Juliann reached for the towel and dabbed at his mouth. Her eyes flicked up to Sasha, worried. “Is that normal?”
“It can be,” Sasha replied kindly. “After what he’s been through, his muscles are weak and he may have lost some oral reflex coordination. We’ll go slow, let speech and nutrition evaluate him. For now, just a few sips is good. We’ll try again later.”
Juliann nodded, rocking him gently as Cairo whimpered in frustration and tucked his face into her chest. She held him close, heart aching.
“He’s trying,” she whispered, kissing the top of his head. Sasha agreed and they tried once more with the bottle. He was able to drink two ounces in total but it was clear he was struggling. Sasha took the bottle with her and left the two in the recliner.
Several hours passed with Cairo drifting in and out of sleep. Juliann sat quietly in the recliner, her arms gently wrapped around Cairo, who was dozing again after another small feeding attempt. The soft beeping of the monitors had become background noise. She was just beginning to nod off when her phone buzzed on the tray table beside her.
She reached for it, blinking at the screen.
Text from Tanisha (CPS):
Hi Juliann, just wanted to let you know the Department has officially approved your home study for temporary placement.
The initial nonsecure custody hearing is scheduled for tomorrow morning at 9:00 AM. It’ll be remote via WebEx. I’ll send the link first thing and be on the call with you to help answer questions. Please try to get a little rest tonight if you can—you’re doing great.
Juliann stared at the message, feeling a wave of emotion rush over her. Relief, fear, gratitude, exhaustion. She looked down at Cairo sleeping in her lap, his small face relaxed for once, and gently kissed his forehead.
Then she typed back:
Juliann: Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be ready.