All they have to do is sit back and collect rent checks or rack up votes, and stay away from the property they own and the people they represent. Easiest job in the world, really. Anything resembling a massive raid on these neighborhoods would ruin their narrative of fairness. Forced adoptions are easier to justify when they’re presented as a case by case basis. The Beoufs of the world wouldn’t be able to justify that an entire neighborhood of Littles suddenly had their “maturosis” flare up and express itself all at once.

My parents got to retire to a Little Town. I’m happy for them.

Misty Brook was no Little Town. Just the closest thing around to one. Trailer parks, warehouses, and a handful of struggling niche businesses did not a private community make. Old rumors like an Amazon landlord deciding his newest tenant was too cute not to adopt, and her boyfriend was better suited for petticoats were the ghost stories Little teenagers told each one another to stay awake at night. Places like Misty Brook would be abandoned lots at the first sign of real trouble.

“I don’t think anyone’s coming out to meet us.” Cassie started walking away, rolling her suitcase behind her. “Let’s go.”

I trudged along behind her, pulling my suitcase and waving at anyone making eye contact. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’.”

“Good morning.”

“Howdy.”

“Good morning.”

“Mmmhmmm…”

As we stood in front of the double wide, I closed my eyes and breathed deep. Damn it was good to be back. Now please, I prayed, give me the strength to deal with my father-in-law.