The three figures huddled together, in a corner of the brightly lit lobby. The figures were children. Tear tracks still lined the terrified face of the smallest; a five-year-old girl named Anna. The oldest, the only boy in the trio, in his early teens, kept glancing around, as if to look out for some ghastly ghost of their recent past.
“Emmett?” The elder girl, who was approximately ten, asked, turning to her brother. “Yes, Emily?” he queried tolerantly.
“Where is Mr. Lankow? Did he leave us?” She sobbed. Her brother stroked her hair reassuringly.
“Be patient.” He told her. A sudden wail erupted from Anna’s mouth. “What is it?’ Emmett demanded.
The little girl pointed. The children shrank back as a man who adhered to the description of their fears walked by. He looked at them curiously, then smiled, and continued on his way. Emily was the first to recover from the spasm of fear; she had always been the bravest. Unexpectedly, Mr. Lankow, a social worker for traumatized children, appeared. “Good news! They’ve located a foster home that will take all three of you together!” Emmett hugged his sisters, Emily smiled, and although she was too young to truly comprehend, Anna clapped her hands. The message was a happy one, but, in the deep recesses of their hearts, the children wished it wasn’t necessary, for their story is a sad one.
*5 years previous*


“Mommy! Emmett hit me!” Emily called to her pregnant mother. But instead, her father responded.
“Mommy can’t get out of bed, Sweetie. You go tell Emmett that if he hits you again, Daddy’s gonna hit him.” She nodded, and ran away giggling.
The father stood there, shaking his head, and chuckling to himself, until he heard his wife’s scream of agony. That dreary day in April became the birthday of Anna Webster, and the deathday of her mother. The once happy father was heart broken. Unfortunately, he turned to alcohol, though the liquor just sent him deeper into depression, on the rare occasion he was sober. The oldest at that time had been an eleven-year-old girl, named Amanda, and she had had to grow up quickly to take care of her siblings. Although Emmett never did hit Emily again, he was hit by his father, as were his sisters. More than once the man who no longer deserved the title “parent” would emerge from a drunken rage to find one or more of his kids unconscious. He would rush the child(ren) to the hospital with a believable excuse as to how his children obtained such extensive injury. Later, he would apologize profusely to the child(ren) in question. Then the cycle would repeat. It continued for five years, until the day he went too far. That was the day Amanda Webster was killed, as the autopsy showed, by a blow to the head. According to the testimony of the other children, a blow that was delivered by their intoxicated father. The state decided that he was incapable of fulfilling his role as paternal figure. The three remaining children were removed from his care, and he was imprisoned.


That is the sad story as to how the Webster children, Emmett, Emily, and Anna, ended up where they were now. And as they drove away with Mr. Lankow, they all looked forward to a new life, a new beginning, and maybe, just maybe, a happily ever after.