After that came court.
The judge asked, “Mr. Ross, do you understand you are assuming full legal and financial responsibility for four minor children?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” I answered. I was terrified, but I meant every word.
The day they moved in, the silence in my house disappeared. Four pairs of shoes by the door. Four backpacks dropped in a heap.
The first few weeks were tough.
Ruby woke most nights crying for her mom. I’d sit on the floor beside her bed until she drifted back to sleep.
Cole pushed every boundary.
“You’re not my real dad,” he yelled once.
“I know,” I replied. “But it’s still no.”
Tessa lingered in doorways, watching me closely, ready to intervene if she felt she had to. Owen tried to take care of everyone and eventually buckled under the weight.
I ruined meals. I stepped on Legos. I locked myself in the bathroom sometimes just to catch my breath.
But it wasn’t only hard.
Ruby would fall asleep on my chest during movie nights. Cole handed me a crayon drawing of stick figures holding hands and said, “This is us. That’s you.”
Tessa slid a school permission slip toward me and asked, “Can you sign this?” She’d written my last name after hers.
One night, Owen stopped at my bedroom door. “Goodnight, Dad,” he said, then stiffened.
I pretended nothing unusual had happened.
“Goodnight, buddy,” I replied.
Inside, my hands were trembling.
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