“A small house,” she said. “And some savings. Not huge, but meaningful. Legally, it all belongs to the children.”
My chest felt tight. “To them?”
“To them,” she confirmed. “You’re listed as guardian and trustee. You can use it for their needs, but you don’t own it. When they’re adults, whatever is left is theirs.”
I let out a breath. “Okay. That’s good.”
She flipped a page. “There’s one more important thing. Their parents were very clear that they did not want their children separated. They wrote that if they couldn’t raise them, they wanted them kept together, in the same home, with one guardian.”
She looked up at me. “You did exactly what they asked for. Without ever seeing this.”
My eyes burned. While the system had been preparing to split the siblings apart, their parents had literally written in their will: “Don’t separate our kids.” They had tried to protect them, even from that.
“Where’s the house?” I asked.
Susan gave me the address. It was across town.
That weekend, I loaded all four kids into the car. “We’re going somewhere important,” I told them.
“Is it the zoo?” Ruby asked.
“Is there ice cream?” Cole added.
“There might be ice cream after. If everyone behaves,” I said.
We pulled up in front of a small beige bungalow with a maple tree in the yard. The car went quiet.
“I know this house,” Tessa whispered.
“This was our house,” Owen said.
“You remember it?” I asked.
Ruby shouted, “The swing is still there!”
They all nodded.
I unlocked the door with the key Susan had given me. Inside, it was empty, but the kids moved like they knew it by heart. Ruby ran to the back door. “The swing is still there!” she yelled.
Cole pointed at a section of the wall. “Mom marked our heights here. Look.” Faint pencil lines were visible under the paint.
