“Probably separated.”
That phrase hit the mark.
I enlarged the image.
The older boy had a protective arm around the little girl next to him. The younger boy seemed to be in motion, as if he hadn’t managed to stay still for the photo. The youngest girl clutched a teddy bear tightly to her brother.
They didn’t seem optimistic.
They seemed prepared for the impact.
I’ve read through the comments.
“So heartbreaking.”
“Common.”
“I pray for them.”
Not a single person wrote: “We’ll take them.”
I put down my phone.
Then he picked it up.
I knew what it was like to leave a hospital with no one by my side.
These children had already buried their parents.
And now the plan was to separate them as well.
I barely slept that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined four children sitting in an office, their fingers intertwined, waiting to find out who was going to be taken away.
The next morning, the message was still there. A phone number was at the bottom. Without even hesitating, I pressed call.
“Child protection services, this is Karen,” a woman replied.
“Hello,” I said. “My name is Michael Ross. I saw the advertisement about the four siblings. Do they still… need a home?”
There was a silence.
“Yes,” she replied. “They are.”
“May I come in and talk about it?”
She seemed taken aback. “Of course. We can meet this afternoon.”
Throughout the entire journey, I kept repeating to myself: “You’re just gathering information.”
But deep down, I knew that wasn’t the truth.
In her office, Karen placed a file in front of me.
“They’re good children,” she said. “They’ve been through a lot.” She opened the box. “Owen is nine. Tessa is seven. Cole is five. Ruby is three.”
I silently reviewed the names.
“Their parents died in a car accident,” Karen continued. “No extended family member could take care of the four children. They are currently in temporary foster care.”
“And what happens if nobody takes all four?” I asked.
She let out a sigh. “They will then be placed separately. Most families cannot take in that many children at once.”
“Is that what you want?”
“That’s what the system allows,” she said. “It’s not ideal.”
I kept my eyes glued to the file.
“I’ll take all four,” I said.
“All four of them?” Karen repeated.
“Yes. All four of them. I know there’s a procedure. I’m not asking you to hand them over to me tomorrow. But if the only reason you’re separating them is that nobody wants four children… I do.”
She met my gaze. “Why?”
“Because they’ve already lost their parents. They shouldn’t have to lose each other too.”
This response resulted in months of evaluations and countless forms.
An advisor I was required to meet asked me, “How are you coping with your grief?”
“Not good,” I admitted. “But I’m still standing.”
