Although my morning started well, it turned gray when we received new admission. The foundation manages a foster home in partnership with the state. We handle monitoring the kids and keeping them up to date. But as Andy told me on my first day, we're just the first line.
The boy can't be more than seven, and his appearance is heartbreaking. I take care of cleaning his wounds, and my blood boils when I realize they are cigarette burns, some already infected. I tried to stay calm and not scare the boy any further. But Andy knows it affects me.
Dan is just a small child who has suffered under a man who kept him on the streets, stealing from him, and who knows what other horrible things.
It's clear he doesn't trust anyone.
"Can I clean your knees?" I ask in a low, gentle tone.
His dark ey
