The birthmark covered most of the left side of her face, dark and obvious, but her eyes were serious and watchful, like she’d learned to read adults before trusting them.
I knelt beside her. “Hi, Lily. I’m Margaret.”
She glanced at the social worker, then back at me.
“Hi,” she whispered.
Thomas squeezed into a tiny chair across from her. “I’m Thomas.”
She studied him and asked, “Are you old?”
He smiled. “Older than you.”
“Will you die soon?” she asked, completely serious.
My stomach dropped.
Thomas didn’t flinch. “Not if I can help it,” he said. “I plan to be a problem for a long time.”
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