October 28th, 1963 was Opalessa Dutchett’s nineteenth birthday, but the milestone felt less like a celebration and more like a deadline she wasn’t prepared to meet. She’d been hoping the day would get skipped—as if the calendar might glitch and jump straight to the twenty-ninth—but inevitably, the sun rose.

She spent the better part of her afternoon in a frantic battle against the state of her apartment. The space was small and dimly lit, prone to catching shadows in the corners even at noon. Each room had to be surgically cleared of its clutter; she stuffed unpaid electric bills, hopeful college waiting list letters, and newspapers circled with desperate red ink into drawers that already groaned under the weight of her mess. She swept the floors until her shoulders ached, then turned her attention to the small spare room. She’d transformed it into a guest bedroom, smoothing the mismatched linens with her palms, praying the foster agency would see it as a sign of a stable, prepared guardian.

She’d been fighting for custody of Danny since the day she turned eighteen, but the system was a fortress of red tape. They told her she was too young, that four years wasn’t enough of a gap to be a "parental figure," but Opal knew the subtext. They saw a girl living paycheck to paycheck in a building that smelled like wet wool and old radiator steam. Fortunately for her, the world was rarely in a rush to adopt teenage boys. He would likely age out of the system in three years, but Opal didn’t want him to just survive the system; she wanted him home. She was even willing to let him go if a "perfect" family appeared, but until then, she just wanted the time to be perfect.

She centered the vanilla birthday cake on the circular dining table with the precision of a jeweler. The scent of warm sugar and flour masked the dusty, ancient smell rising from the creaky floorboards. Vanilla was the only flavor Danny would touch—aside from carrot cake, which Opal found repulsive. She’d spent the morning frosting it with bright orange cream, piping pink flowers and simple swirls that felt a bit too juvenile. The 19! on top was the worst part; the exclamation point looked mocking, a loud shout of excitement she didn’t actually feel. She hadn't felt much for holidays since their parents died, but for Danny’s sake, she practiced her "happy face" in the hallway mirror. As long as she appeared happy, Danny was happy; and that was the only thing that kept Opal grounded.

To complete the illusion of a joyful life, she’d dolled herself up in a new burnt vermillion and white striped dress. It had flowy sleeves that made her feel more like a woman and less like a girl playing house. She tied the matching fabric into a prim bow at her back and stepped into silver strapped heels. Finally, she slid on a chunky headband. A year ago, in a fit of fleeting whimsy, she’d glued plastic smiley faces, rainbows, and pink hearts onto it. Now, it just served to keep her pin-straight black hair out of her eyes.

After placing two glasses of sparkling cider on the table and hiding the bottle in the back of the loudly buzzing fridge, she sat down. She watched the yellow glittery wax of the candles drip like slow, golden tears onto the frosting.

The click of the lock made her bolt upright. She’d given Danny a key, thinking it made her look trustworthy—a sister who provided a permanent harbor. Now, as the door swung open, she panicked, wondering if the caseworker would see it as a lapse in judgment.

She hugged her brother so tight she could feel the new breadth of his shoulders. He was taller now, a sudden growth spurt that made Opal wish she could reach out and grab the hands of a clock to stop them. The caseworker, a woman Opal privately dubbed "Agent Sunshine," stood in the doorway with a practiced, hollow smile.

“You have until ten,” the woman said, already moving toward the living room with a tabloid magazine.

The siblings sat across from each other. The apartment felt smaller with the agent looming on the sofa just a few feet away. Opal wondered if the woman was truly reading or if she was counting the dust motes on the shelves, waiting for Opal to slip up.

“Are you okay?” Opal asked softly, her hands folded tightly to hide their shaking.

Danny didn’t answer. Instead, he slid a small box wrapped in white paper across the table. Opal opened it with trembling fingers. Inside lay a thin gold chain with a glass sphere. At its center was a tiny, three-dimensional blue star dusted with gold specks. It was beautiful—strangely beautiful.

“How did you get this? Danny, how much was this?”

He shrugged, a smirk tugging at his mouth. “Five-finger discount at some secret little shop.”

“Daniel!” Opal hissed, her eyes darting toward the living room. “You stole this? From a stranger? That’s so irresponsible.”

“Don’t be such a dove, Opie,” he teased, his icy blue eyes finally meeting hers. “You dig it, though?”

She couldn’t help it; she giggled. “Yes, I love it.”

Opal held the delicate necklace in her hands, turning it over. The glass sphere caught the fading sunlight filtering through the blinds, scattering tiny blue and gold sparks across the table. Danny watched her, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips, but there was something else there too—hesitation, maybe even fear.

“Danny,” she whispered, lowering her voice as if the caseworker could hear her through the walls. “You can’t…c'mon...make my life easier, here.”

He shrugged again, leaning back in his chair. “Relax. It was a tiny thing. No one even noticed. I thought you’d like it. It’s… kinda like us, you know? Small, weird, but shiny.”

Opal smiled despite herself, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “Yeah… like us.”

The soft hum of the fridge seemed deafening as the caseworker finally looked up from her magazine. “Is this… the birthday celebration?” she asked, voice clipped but polite. She tilted her head, examining the cake and the sparkling cider, the neat stack of dishes, the carefully fluffed pillows on the spare bed. “It’s… adequate.”

Opal stiffened. “Adequate?” Her hands tightened around the chain. “I thought—”

“Relax,” Danny said, smirking, but his eyes flicked nervously toward the agent. “She means it’s fine. Don’t freak.”

“Opalessa,” the caseworker said, setting the magazine down with a faint snap. “I want to be clear. The state isn’t against you, but you need to show me stability. Not just… tidiness. Structure, responsibility, proof you can handle a teenager’s needs. You’ve come a long way since last year, but there are still gaps. For example…” She gestured vaguely at the small pile of unopened mail on the counter. “Bills. Important paperwork.”

Opal nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “I know. I’ve been trying to—”

“You’ve been trying, yes,” the agent interrupted, “but trying isn’t enough. You need results. Danny’s life is on the line here, not just yours.”

Danny’s smirk faltered. He leaned forward, elbows on the table, studying the caseworker. “You really think I’m just some kid you can clock out of life for?” His voice was quieter now, edged with a sharpness that made Opal wince. “I’m not just some paperwork for you to shuffle around.”

The caseworker’s smile stayed rigid, like a mask she couldn’t take off. “I never said that, Danny. But the rules exist for everyone, and your safety… well, it’s complicated.”

Opal reached across the table, placing her hand over his. “Danny, don’t start. Not now. We’ve got this.”

He looked down at her hand, the tension easing just enough for a tiny, defiant grin to resurface. “Yeah, okay, Opie. We got this.”

The agent cleared her throat, breaking the fragile bubble of warmth. “I have ten minutes. Show me what a day in your life looks like. From morning till now. I want details. How you feed him, structure his homework, manage your time. Convince me that he isn’t just safe here, but that he can thrive.”

Opal exhaled slowly. Her birthday cake, the carefully piped flowers, the sparkling cider—it all suddenly felt secondary. This wasn’t just a test of tidiness. It was the culmination of four years of hoping she could be enough.

Danny leaned back in his chair again, nudging her foot under the table with his own. “Want me to help?”

“Of course,” she whispered, forcing a smile that reached her eyes. “Together.”

The caseworker watched silently, folding her arms. The clock ticked loudly on the wall. Time wasn’t on their side—but for the first time that day, Opal felt something she hadn’t in a long while: a spark of hope.

And maybe, just maybe, it was enough.

Opal took a shaky breath and stood, brushing the crumbs of cake from her dress. “Okay,” she said, voice steadier than she felt. “Breakfast, lunch, homework, chores. Follow me.”

Danny groaned. “Do we have to start with breakfast? I’m still full from the cake.”

“Every detail counts,” Opal muttered, grabbing a notepad she’d hastily scribbled on that morning. She marched toward the kitchenette, Danny reluctantly trailing behind, and began laying out a morning routine. She recited meals, snack times, and study sessions, adding in careful notes about vitamins and chores.

The agent, seated cross-legged on the couch, tapped her pen against her notepad without looking up. Every gesture Opal made seemed amplified under the scrutiny.

“See?” Danny whispered under his breath as she folded the laundry. “She’s gonna find something wrong. She always does.”

Opal shot him a glare. “Not today. Not with us.”

But the tension in the room was palpable. The caseworker finally spoke, voice calm but cutting: “Opalessa, the schedule is fine. On paper. But what happens when things go off-plan? What happens when Danny refuses homework or breaks something expensive? Or—” She paused, eyes flicking to the small glass sphere necklace resting on the table. “—when he takes risks, makes mistakes?”

Danny’s smirk disappeared. “You mean like stealing stuff?” His voice was sharp, defensive. “You don’t know me. You don’t know what I can do, or what I won’t do!”

Opal put a hand on his shoulder. “Danny, breathe. This isn’t a fight. Just… show her who we are.”

The agent raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Danny shifted, folding his arms. “Fine. I do stupid stuff sometimes. Yeah. But I’m not just some kid you can organize with schedules and rules. Opie’s here. She cares. She notices the little things. She keeps me alive when the world forgets me. That’s more than any paper or form can prove.”

Opal’s chest tightened. His words were raw, almost reckless—but honest. And in that honesty, she saw the bond she’d fought so hard to nurture.

The caseworker leaned back, a flicker of surprise crossing her face before her mask returned. “I see,” she said slowly. “You’re invested. Emotionally. That’s… important.”

Danny rolled his eyes but smiled faintly. “Glad you finally noticed.”

Opal exhaled, relief and nerves warring inside her. The next part of the inspection was the hardest—showing the agent that their home was safe, not just organized. She led her through the apartment: drawers, closets, even the bathroom. Every corner, every shelf, every hidden stack of papers had to prove stability.

As they reached the spare room, Danny leaned into her side. “Hey,” he whispered. “No matter what, thanks for fighting for me.”

Opal’s throat tightened. She knelt, pressing her forehead to his. “Always. You’re mine, Danny. Always.”

The caseworker cleared her throat, a gentle reminder that the inspection wasn’t over. She picked up the necklace from the table. “Curious item. You two made this together?”

Danny shook his head. “Nope. I did. At school. Birthday present.” His grin was sheepish but defiant. “But she likes it. So it’s cool.”

Opal felt a pang of worry. “I didn’t tell him to—”

“Enough.” The agent’s voice cut through, not harsh, but final. “I see enough. I’ll be making a recommendation. But I want you to remember: a home isn’t just a schedule, not just neat beds or cakes. It’s the connection, the trust. Right now, I see that. But you have to keep proving it every day.”

Danny smirked at her, and Opal allowed herself the tiniest smile. The hardest part wasn’t over—they still had the legal hurdles, the bureaucracy—but for one afternoon, for that fragile moment, she had done it.

And that… that was worth celebrating.