When Regina finally picked up Jennie, relief washed over me. Regina first took her to the local ER to have her checked out, and I went to Pete and Marcy’s home to help them prepare. Marcy baked cookies so the house would feel more welcoming, saying, “I just want her to feel safe.”
But when Jennie arrived, she panicked. She cried, screamed, and refused to get out of the car. For over an hour we tried—me, Regina, Pete, and Marcy—to calm her fear. But Jennie begged to go back to the hospital, seemingly terrified of something none of us could understand. Eventually, Regina drove her back to the ER. Shaken, but resolved, Pete and Marcy simply said, “Well, we’ll be here when she’s ready.”
Hours later, Jennie was ready to try again. When she and Regina pulled up to the home, however, she locked herself in Regina’s car and threatened to drive off. Fear gripped all of us, and I called the police out of concern for everyone’s safety.
When the officers arrived, Jennie rushed to them, crying that the foster home was a place she’d been trafficked at only a few days earlier. Suddenly, her panic made sense. She wasn’t being “difficult.” She was re-living violence and trauma.
With the officer’s help, we entered the house and walked Jennie through the rooms until she came to accept that this was a different house. When she did, she collapsed on the couch, exhausted and relieved. Marcy sat beside her, whispering, “You’re safe here.”
After a hot shower, some warm food, and a lot of words of comfort, Jennie felt safe enough to get into bed. Before she settled, however, she asked me and Marcy to stay with her, allowing Marcy to gently hold her hand. With her eyes on me in the dimness of the room, she said, “Please don’t give up on me.” As she drifted off, I allowed only one thought to repeat in my head: right now, for this one night, Jennie is warm, full, and safe.
When I finally left, drained but grateful at 4am, I had hope that this might be Jennie’s turning point.
All names and details changed for confidentiality.
