By the time Quinn finished printing the last affidavit, the stack of paperwork covered nearly half the kitchen table.
Character references from professors.
Employment records.
Lease agreements.
Bank statements.
Letters from Paisley's teachers.
The emergency custody petition itself.
He straightened one corner of the stack for what had to be the tenth time before realizing he'd already done it.
His fingers needed something to do.
His brain wouldn't stop.
Tomorrow morning, a judge would decide whether his thirteen-year-old sister boarded a plane back to San Francisco.
Months of paperwork.
Hundreds of phone calls.
Thousands of dollars he didn't really have.
Every ounce of hope he'd managed to scrape together.
Tomorrow, it all came down to one hearing.
A knock sounded at his bed
