The cold rain was coming down in sheets as the case worker pulled the car seat out of the back of the car. She struggled to keep a firm grip on it as she sloshed through the wet yard towards the house with her burden. Thankfully, there was a metal awning over the concrete stoop, and she was able to sit the child in his carrier down so that she could shift the diaper bag onto her shoulder and tap on the front door.

The door opened and the case worker smiled at the older woman apologetically, “Sorry for such short notice …”

The woman shooed her apology away, as she reached for the car seat, “Oh, aren’t you just adorable,” she cooed, as she quickly looked over the little boy that was staring back up at her with big, concerned eyes, “You can’t be much over a year and a half, as tiny as you are.”

“He’s a month shy of two, actually,” the case worker explained, as she sat the diaper bag down, “He’s malnourished and developmentally delayed,” she reached into her purse and pulled out a few folded papers, “He has another doctor’s appointment next week. I suspect he’ll want you to set up an appointment with a speech therapist. My name’s Betty Channing, by the way.”

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