That line—“likely be separated”—hit me like a punch.
I zoomed in on the photo. The oldest boy had his arm around the girl next to him. The younger boy looked like he’d been caught mid-movement. The little girl clutched a stuffed bear and leaned into her brother. They didn’t look hopeful. They looked like they were bracing.
The comments said things like “So heartbreaking,” “Shared,” “Praying for them.” But nobody said, “We’ll take them.”
I put my phone down. Picked it up again. I knew what it was like to walk out of a hospital alone. Those kids had already lost their parents. And now, the plan was to split them up too.
I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw four kids in some office, holding hands, waiting to hear who was leaving.
In the morning, the post was still on my screen. There was a number at the bottom. Before I could talk myself out of it, I hit call.
“Child Services, this is Karen,” a woman answered.
“Hi,” I said. “My name is Michael Ross. I saw the post about the four siblings. Are they still… needing a home?”
She paused. “Yes,” she said. “They are.”
“Can I come in and talk about them?”
