“I know,” I said. “But it’s still no.”
Tessa hovered in doorways, watching me, ready to step in if she thought she had to. Owen tried to parent everyone and collapsed under it.
“Goodnight, Dad.”
I burned dinner. I stepped on Legos. I hid in the bathroom just to breathe.
But it wasn’t all hard. Ruby fell asleep on my chest during movies. Cole brought me a crayon drawing of stick figures holding hands and said, “This is us. That’s you.”
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Tessa slid me a school form and asked, “Can you sign this?” She’d written my last name after hers.
One night, Owen paused in my doorway. “Goodnight, Dad,” he said, then froze.
The house was loud and alive.
I acted like it was normal.
“Goodnight, buddy,” I said.
Inside, I was shaking.
***
About a year after the adoption was finalized, life looked… normal, in a messy way. School, homework, appointments, soccer, arguments over screen time.
The house was loud and alive.
A woman in a dark suit stood on the porch.
One morning, I dropped them off at school and daycare and came home to start work.
Half an hour later, the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
A woman in a dark suit stood on the porch, holding a leather briefcase. “Good morning. Are you Michael? And you’re the adoptive father of Owen, Tessa, Cole, and Ruby?”
“Yes,” I said. “Are they okay?”
“Come in.”
“They’re fine,” she said quickly. “I should’ve said that first. My name is Susan. I was the attorney for their biological parents.”
I stepped aside. “Come in.”
We sat at the kitchen table. I pushed cereal bowls and crayons to the side.
She opened her briefcase and pulled out a folder. “Before their deaths, their parents came to my office to make a will. They were healthy. Just planning ahead.”
“To them?”
My chest felt tight.
“In that will, they made provisions for the children,” she said. “They also placed certain assets into a
trust
.”
“Assets?”
“A small house,” she said. “And some savings. Not huge, but meaningful. Legally, it all belongs to the children.”
“To them?”
“There’s one more important thing.”
