“Daddy how could you?” she asked, trembling as her father’s voice floated from the phone that had turned to lead in her hand.

“Times get tough, honey,” her dad answered. “It wasn’t the best choice, I know.”

“What’s gonna happen to me?” she sniffed.

She heard him take a deep breath. “Sweetheart, they’re gonna come for you tomorrow.”

“What do you mean? Who’s gonna come?” The girl was trying to hold back her sobs.

“Some people called social workers,” her father sighed. “They’re gonna take you to a place where you’ll have a new mother and father.”

“But I don’t want a new mommy and daddy,” the little girl cried. “I want you.”

“That can’t happen right now, Lindsey,” the man choked out his daughter’s name. “Now. You listen here. You better behave real nice for the social workers.”

“Okay,” Lindsey huffed.

“You gotta call them ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am’ like the little lady you are.” Lindsey smiled. She loved it when her dad called her a ‘little lady’.

“I will.” Lindsey was hyperventilating now. “But I’m gonna miss you, Daddy.”

“You can still see me every month.” Her father tried to be optimistic, but failed.

“Will we still get to have our Thanksgiving feast together?” Lindsey brightened herself up.

“Darlin’.” He sounded dead tired. “They don’t serve Thanksgiving dinner in prison.”