By morning, the post was still there. A phone number sat at the bottom. Before I could second-guess myself, I pressed 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?”
There was a pause.
“Yes,” she replied. “They are.”
“Can I come in and talk about them?”
She sounded caught off guard. “Of course. We can meet this afternoon.”
On the drive there, 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 folder in front of me.
“They’re good kids,” she said. “They’ve been through a lot.” She opened it. “Owen is nine. Tessa is seven. Cole is five. Ruby is three.”
I went over the names silently.
“Their parents died in a car accident,” Karen continued. “No extended family could take all four. They’re in temporary care now.”
“So what happens if no one takes all four?” I asked.
She let out a breath. “Then they’ll be placed separately. Most families can’t take that many children at once.”
“Is that what you want?”
“It’s what the system allows,” she said. “It’s not ideal.”
I kept my eyes on the file.
“I’ll take all four,” I said.
“All four?” Karen echoed.
“Yes. All four. I know there’s a process. I’m not asking you to hand them over tomorrow. But if the only reason you’re separating them is because no one wants four kids… I do.”
She met my gaze. “Why?”
“Because they’ve already lost their parents. They shouldn’t have to lose each other too.”
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