Fifteen-Year-Old Girl Calls Social Services to Take Her and Her Sisters

My hands were shaking as I dialed the number. I started five times and hung up before anyone could answer. On the sixth try, a woman’s voice came through the line.

—Social Services, how can I help you?

—I… —my voice came out as a whisper—. I need someone to come for us.

—What’s your name, sweetheart?

—Andrea. I’m fifteen.

—Are you in danger right now, Andrea?

—No, it’s not that. It’s just… —I took a deep breath—. There are six of us sisters, and my mom… she’s been gone for three days and hasn’t come back.

I heard rapid typing on the other end.

—Is there any adult with you?

—No, ma’am. Just me. I have five little sisters. The youngest is eight months old.

A heavy silence fell. I looked into the living room where baby Sofía, only two years old, was crying because she was hungry again. Carla, four, tried to soothe her, singing the lullaby I always sang. The six-year-old twins clung to each other, eyes wide and scared, asking if Mom would ever come back.

—Andrea, listen carefully. I’m sending help right away. What’s your address?

Tears filled my eyes as I gave it to her. I hadn’t slept more than an hour at a time in three days. The baby cried through the nights. Diapers were running out. My sisters’ eyes reflected hunger and fear.

—Do you know where your mother is?

—No, ma’am… she… she does this sometimes. She leaves for a few days, but she always came back. This time… I don’t know. And there’s no food left. I don’t have any more formula for the baby.

—How long have you been taking care of your sisters on your own?

The question broke me. Tears fell freely.

—Always, ma’am. As long as I can remember. Mom works—or says she does—but she’s hardly ever here. I change their diapers, feed them, take them to school when I can… I even quit school two years ago because someone had to stay with them.

—Andrea… —her voice softened—. This shouldn’t be your responsibility. You’re a child too.

—I don’t feel like a child anymore —I admitted, my voice cracking—. I feel like I’m a hundred years old.

—Why did you call today?

—Because yesterday the baby wouldn’t stop crying and I didn’t know what to do. Because Lucía, six, asked when Mom would be back and I couldn’t answer. Because Carla has a bad cough and I don’t have money to take her to the doctor. Because… —my voice broke—. Because I can’t do it anymore. I’ve tried, really I have, but I can’t keep being the mother to five little girls when I need a mom myself.

—You did the right thing by calling, Andrea. You’re very brave.

—Are we going to be separated? —I asked, fear pressing against my chest.

—I don’t know, sweetheart. But I do know that all of you deserve care, food, and a safe place. You too. Someone will be there in twenty minutes. Can you wait?

—Yes, ma’am.

—Andrea? I want you to know something. You’ve done an incredible job caring for your sisters. But now it’s time for someone else to care for all of you, including you.

I hung up the phone and sat on the floor, hugging Sofía to my chest. For the first time in years, I let myself just be a fifteen-year-old girl—tired, scared, and overwhelmed.

—Baby? —she called in her soft voice.

—Yes, sweetheart.

—I’m hungry.

—I know, my love. Help is coming. I promise.

Twenty minutes later, someone knocked at the door. I opened it and saw a woman with kind eyes and a smile that seemed to understand every fear I’d been holding inside.

—Hello, Andrea. I’m here to help —she said, and her words seemed to calm the chaos that had filled our home.

She came in and began organizing everything with calm efficiency. She asked for each of my sisters’ names, gave them water, food, and warm hugs. Lucía, the shyest, hid behind me, and I took her hand.

—It’s okay, sweetie. You don’t have to be afraid anymore. —The woman smiled at me—. Andrea, what you did was brave. Today, you’ll be safe.

For the first time in a long while, I allowed myself to believe that maybe everything would be alright.

As I watched my sisters receive care, I felt the enormous weight lift from my shoulders. Finally, I could breathe. Finally, we were just girls again, not mothers to ourselves.

That night, as the little ones slept, I sat by the window, watching the city lights illuminate our small beds. Sofía slept curled up against me. I let out a shaky breath and smiled through my tears.

—Everything is going to be okay —I whispered. —Finally, everything is going to be okay.