“The last time an officer came to my house, I was five. He smiled and said, ‘Want to go get a cookie?’ I thought it was an adventure, too young to grasp why my mom was crying as we drove away. We collected my sister from school and sat at DHS, waiting to be placed. We owned nothing but the clothes we wore, stained and worn. All I could say was, ‘I need somewhere to stay until I know where I belong.’”
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