“It’s what the system allows,” she said. “It’s not ideal.”
I stared at the file. “All four?”
“All four?” Karen repeated.
“Yes. All four. I know there’s a process. I’m not saying hand them over tomorrow. But if the only reason you’re splitting them up is that nobody wants four kids… I do.”
She looked right at me. “Why?”
“Because they already lost their parents. They shouldn’t have to lose each other, too.”
That began months of checks and paperwork. A therapist I had to see asked, “How are you handling your grief?”
“Badly,” I said. “But I’m still here.”
The first time I met the kids was in a visitation room with ugly chairs and fluorescent lights. All four sat on one couch, shoulders and knees touching.
“Are you the man who’s taking us?” Owen asked.
I sat down across from them. “Hey, I’m Michael.”
Ruby hid her face in Owen’s shirt. Cole stared at my shoes. Tessa folded her arms, chin up, pure suspicion. Owen watched me like a little adult.
“Are you the man who’s taking us?” he repeated.
“If you want me to be.”
