Then two uniformed officers appeared in the lobby.

Panic flared in me. Were they here to collect on our mounting bills? To question unfinished paperwork? A nurse caught my eye and whispered, “They’re here to help.”

They offered to load our things and escort us to “temporary placement.” Exhaustion outweighed curiosity, so I climbed into the van, the officers closing the doors behind us. One of them slipped me a plain white envelope and instructed, “Don’t open it until you’re inside.”

His name—Derek Monroe—was scrawled