Home visit

Kian

I knew the home visit would come quickly. Mam made da clean his boots and all the mess he made last night, as well as cleaning up his appearance. As if a quick scrub of his jacket could undo the damage he'd done. She'd done what she could to clean up the house, but I could tell she was already drained.

I stayed up most of the night cleaning my room and doing a second round of the house. I didn't want anything to be out of place. It wasn't that I thought the social worker would notice the smallest things like a slightly crooked picture frame or a bit of dust behind the sofa, but I knew how Mam felt about it. She had to prove that we were capable, that she was capable, and I'd be damned if I let my father's indifference ruin that.

By the time morning came, I was already exhausted. My eyes were gritty with lack of sleep, and my body ached from all the cleaning. I felt like I hadn't stopped moving for hours, but I knew there was no way I could afford to slack off. Not now.

The sound of the doorbell ringing made my heart jump. I looked at Mam, who was fixing her hair in the mirror and adjusting the collar of her blouse. She gave me a forced smile, trying to look calm, but I could see the nerves behind her eyes.

"Are you ready?" I asked, trying to sound reassuring even though I wasn't sure if I believed it myself.

She nodded, her voice trembling just a little. "We have to be. I just hope everything goes well. This is our chance, Kian."

I nodded, even though I wasn't sure what that even meant anymore. What was the point of doing all this when everything felt like it was falling apart anyway?

"Let's just get through this," I said, hoping the words would comfort her, even though I wasn't sure they'd do the same for me.

The doorbell rang again, this time more insistent. Mam took a deep breath and went to answer it. I followed her down the hallway, my stomach churning with anticipation. My dad was nowhere to be seen, but I could hear him in the kitchen, trying to get himself together, I guess.

I glanced over at him, wishing he'd just stay out of the way, but that was never going to happen. He was too wrapped up in his own world to care about anything else.

When Mam opened the door, a woman stood there, clipboard in hand, with a warm but professional smile. She wasn't what I expected—no stern, judgmental eyes. Just someone doing their job.

"Hello," the social worker said, offering a firm handshake. "I'm Miss O'Donovan. I'm here for the home visit."

"Hi, Miss O'Donovan," Mam said, her voice steady but with a slight edge to it. "Please come in."

She stepped inside, her eyes scanning the tidy entryway before she looked at Mam. "Everything looks in order here," she said, but it didn't feel like a compliment. More like an observation. "I'll need to speak with all of you."

I felt my stomach twist as I led her to the living room, where the tension in the air seemed to grow thicker with every passing second. I had no idea what was going to happen next, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't going to go the way we wanted.

Mam started to talk, telling Miss O'Donovan about the improvements we'd made, the steps she'd taken to make the house more stable, more safe for us. I could tell she was trying to hold it together, but she kept pausing, like she was second-guessing everything she said.

"I've been working," she continued, looking at me as she spoke. "Kian helps with everything around the house. He's... he's a good boy. He does his best."

I could see her eyes welling up, but she wiped them quickly. I didn't know what to say to comfort her, so I just stayed quiet, standing in the corner.

When Miss O'Donovan finally turned to me, I couldn't help the way my heart raced. I wasn't prepared for this. I never had been.

"Kian," she said softly, her voice gentle but firm. "How have you been doing? Are you okay?"

I swallowed hard. "I'm fine," I said, but I knew it didn't sound convincing. "Just trying to help out where I can."

She gave me a small, understanding smile. "I can see that. You're doing your best. It's clear that your mother wants what's best for you and Emi."

I nodded, but I couldn't stop the thoughts racing through my head. Was that enough? Was it enough to just show we were trying? Was it enough to make everything better?

And then, like some cruel reminder of everything that was out of our control, my father walked into the room, looking disheveled but trying to pull himself together. He didn't even bother to say anything before sitting down on the arm of the couch, acting like he was just another part of the furniture.

Miss O'Donovan's gaze flicked to him, and I saw the briefest flicker of concern in her eyes. I couldn't tell if it was about my dad or about how he was acting, but it didn't matter. We were already on edge, and every second felt like it could tip us into failure.

Mam gave me a quick glance, her face tight, but she nodded once, as if to say we had no choice now but to get through it.

"Is this all?" Miss O'Donovan asked, glancing around the room. "What I see here seems positive, but I'll need to follow up with a report and assess how things are going over the next few weeks."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. I wasn't sure if she was trying to reassure us or if she was just keeping her options open, but I could tell Mam's shoulders tensed at the mention of a follow-up.

"We'll do whatever it takes," Mam said, her voice suddenly stronger. "I want Emi back with us."

I could see Miss O'Donovan nod again, her expression unreadable.

"We'll see," she said, giving us both a final look before heading for the door. "I'll be in touch with the next steps. Please keep working on the things we've discussed."

The door clicked shut behind her, and I didn't know what to feel. Relief? Fear? Nothing?

"I hate this," Mam muttered under her breath, sinking into the couch as if the weight of it all had just hit her. "I just want it to be over."

I didn't know what to say. So, I stayed quiet. The waiting felt worse than the actual visit. The not knowing what would happen next.

But I knew one thing for sure—nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.

We'd just have to keep pretending everything was fine. Until it wasn't anymore.