The meeting
Pernille Harder x Magdalena Eriksson x Child!Reader
1.3k words
Summary: Magda and Pernille are ready, they are sure they are ready to be foster, and hopefully one day adoptive, parents. So today they meet their first foster daughter, a six year old, who doesn't speak and looks sadder than any child should.
Warnings: Mentions of abuse and neglect, shitty social worker.
Masterlist
The little house in Cobham was spotless. They had moved into this space a few months ago, after Pernille had officially joined Chelsea. Magda had spend a few months before Pernille had moved to London searching for the perfect house. They had planned this for years. Pernille coming to Chelsea, them moving to a perfect little house and then finally starting a family of their own.
So for the past year, even before Pernille had moved to London, they had filed hundreds of documents and prepared dozens of applications before finally being approved as foster parents in the English system. Foster parents with the option to one day adopt a little one of their own. They had decided to foster instead of just immediately adopting a baby or older child for two reasons. One they wanted a kid that was a little older and needed a family but had a hard time finding one. Two they wanted to give the child some time to adjust to the new home and them. If the child wouldn't want to stay and didn't like the home they didn't want to force the child to stay with them, even if it would break their hearts to see a child go.
Today was the day it went like happen. The day where their first foster child would join their little family, in the four bedroom house in Cobham. Hopefully soon little feet would patter on the wooden floor and they would run around in the backyard to play together.
The apartment was spotless. Magda had spent most of the morning moving through the rooms again and again. She was nervous, even after Pernille had tried to calm her down a dozen times. The swede had continued running around making sure everything was in its place. The small bedroom across from theirs had been fussed over the most. The light yellow sheets tucked tightly. The little moon lamp glowing warmly on the bedside table and a soft stuffed bear propped up on the pillow. Pernille had tucked a Chelsea scarf on the end of the bed. Just a little playful touch, though Magda had worried it might be too much. Now, with the clock ticking toward the arrival, both women stood in the living room, pretending not to be nervous. Pernille tried to calm Magda down. “It’s okay my love. We've prepared everything we could. You even made some nice cake.” The blonde said and hugged her girlfriend who was still fussing over the pillows on the couch.
Magda sighed and turned to her partner. “I know. But I am so nervous. I mean this our first time being mammas. What if we suck at it?” Pernille just sighed and pressed a kiss against the other woman's lips. “We'll be fine. We've been preparing for over fifteen months. This little girl is so wanted and hopefully she'll feel it and adjust well to living with us. Hopefully we'll get to keep this baby.” The Swedish woman just sighed and nodded. They stayed like that for a little while before Magda moved again to adjust the pillows one more time. Pernille just sighed and watched her girlfriend fuss over every little detail. She knew she couldn't do anything else to calm her down.
When the knock finally came, it was sharp and businesslike. The social worker didn’t bother with pleasantries as she stepped in, gesturing behind her. It was a tall, blonde woman with sharp blue eyes. She was wearing a business-like suit with a pencil skirt. She didn't smile and just shook their hands before stepping.
“This is her.” She said in the same tone one might use to point out luggage on a conveyor belt. There was no warmth, no familiarity and no gentleness that one might hope that a social worker would use for a little girl.
And then you finally shuffled inside. Your hair hung in dull, tangled strands. The two women could even see that they were clumped together in places. A clear sign of neglect, that nobody had brushed your hair in weeks and clearly nobody had ever taught you how to do it either. The thin dress you were wearing clung awkwardly to your frame. Your frame was small, way smaller than the body of a six-year old should be and still the dress was way too small. The hem of the dress was rising above your little knees that were scraped and bruised. The fabric strained at the shoulders and your little feet slipped inside shoes that were at least two sizes too big. You'd looked so light and malnourished that Magda’s heart lurched in pain and petty. You were only six years old, but you looked half that. You looked like a baby that needed to be held and cradled close for your own safety.
“She doesn’t talk much.” The social worker continued. “And when she does, it’s usually to argue. Don’t expect much. Kids like this, they're traumatized and aren't easy to handle. Most of them don't stay in a family longer than a few months. They don’t attach easily, you know. They’ll push you away before you ever get close. Don't expect too much from kids like this."
The words hit both of the footballers hard, each one felt like a little blow. But what struck Magda and Pernille more was your reaction to them. Or rather the lack of one. You didn’t flinch, didn’t scowl. God you didn't even look down in shame. You simply stared at the floor. Your eyes glazed, as though you weren't even present. It was the sort of indifference that didn’t belong to a little girl of your age.
Pernille felt her throat tighten. She wanted to scoop you up into her arms. Then take you to your bathroom to wash your hair, wrap you in a blanket and never let anyone speak about you like that again. Magda, subconsciously slipped into her captains mode, like she did on the pitch. She forced her voice into a calm and gentle tone, to keep herself calm and not startled you even more. “Would you like to sit down?” She asked softly, crouching to make herself smaller and less imposing.
You didn’t answer. You didn't even move in reaction to the gentle question. Your fingers tightened around the strap of the little worn and faded bag. Your gaze stayed fixed somewhere near the rug.
“She won’t respond. The last foster family said she was basically mute.” The social worker said with a shrug. “Best not to take it personally. She’s used to disappointment.”
Pernille clenched her jaw, her hand finding Magda’s for the briefest moment. They both smiled anyway, not at the worker but at you. Even though you still hadn’t looked at them. There was no forcing this, they knew that. They would have to be patient and make you feel safe.
“Why don’t you come see your room?” Pernille tried, her voice lighter and more inviting. She pointed down the hallway toward the little bedroom they had prepared.
But there was no movement. No flicker of curiosity. Nothing.
But Magda noticed something small. Your grip on the bag loosened. It is as just a fraction, and your shoulders dropped from their tense hunch. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t even visible to someone who wasn’t looking closely. But it was enough. She knew they'd make it. They would be able to make you feel safe. She promised herself that.
As the social worker rattled off a few more clipped instructions about routines and rules, neither Magda nor Pernille heard them clearly. It wasn't like they didn't know these things, after dozens of parenting classes and papers from the social services they knew everything there was. Their attention stayed on you. So tiny, silent and wrapped up in clothes that didn’t fit. Looking like the world had been too cruel for too long.
In that moment, both women felt the same unspoken vow settle between them. However long it took, however many walls you had built, however many times you would push bac. They would be there. They weren’t going anywhere and neither were you.
