You don’t know me. For all you know I could be a pedophile, a rapist, a serial killer, a human being rotten to the core. But I do know you. I know you struggle with alcohol. I know your child is six years old and that you don’t feed her properly.

I dont judge you. Addiction is difficult, and in many cases living without addiction is harder. Because you won’t have what protects you against those merciless demons if you quit. That shame at being cheated at or at being pushover or at being a disgrace or any other demon. Honestly, I don’t know what demons you have. I don’t know you, but that doesn’t matter. Your child’s health does.

And we both know your alcoholism impacts her. You can’t control yourself when you’re drunk. That’s normal, and when you scream at her, or hurt her, or mistreat her, you slowly take her childhood away from her. You don’t want to do this. You feel horrible for doing this. And when you feel horrible you drink. You know this is unhealthy, and despite all your demons, at the very core your heart is a good one.

That’s why when I come knocking, and I tell you I’m from child protective services, you hand your kid over without much of a fuss. I see the hurt in your eyes. I see your instincts telling you handing your child over to a stranger is simply wrong. But your heart compels you to do what’s right, and your child deserves better than you.

She’s a sweet little kid that talked about her aspirations in the car with me. Did you know that she wants to become a vet because she loves animals so much or that she really likes black cats or that she loves ice cream?

But here’s the thing, I don’t work for child protective services, and you’ll realize that soon enough. You threw your child right into child trafficking. Your trust and good natured heart made my life that much easier. Thank you for that.

After taking her, I handed her over to a large, cold man. I look trustable and friendly. He doesn’t. Your child cried and begged me not to give him to you. What a silly child? As if I give any care whatsoever towards her health. That’s not my role.

Truthfully I don’t really knows what happens with them after that. There are many different paths, most of them guaranteeing you’ll never see her again, and even if you do, she won’t be the person you gave me.

Sometimes I like to think of the child’s perspective on all of this. You beat them mercilessly. Then a man comes to the door, and you hand them over to go through hell. You’re worse than the devil in her eyes.