Evenings were the worst.

Richard would sit alone at the kitchen table under the yellow glow of a single bulb, staring at peeling wallpaper while the ticking clock mocked the passage of time. Friends urged him to remarry, to “start fresh,” to move on.

But Richard wasn’t interested in replacing what he had lost.

He was bound to the final words Anne had whispered from her hospital bed:

“Don’t let love die with me. Give it somewhere to go.”

He didn’t know then where that love would land.

The Rainy Night That Changed Everything

St. Mary’s Orphanage

One cold, rain-soaked night, his old pickup truck broke down near St. Mary’s Orphanage on the edge of town.

He stepped inside just to use the phone.

But before he could dial for help, he heard something else.

Crying.

Not one cry.

Many.

He followed the sound down a dim hallway into a cramped nursery. Rows of cribs stood side by side.

Inside them were nine baby girls.

All dark-skinned.
All with wide brown eyes.
All reaching upward with fragile arms.

Their cries overlapped — one whimpering, another wailing, others fussing — creating a heartbreaking chorus that filled the room.

Richard froze.

Nine babies.

“They’ll Be Separated”

A young nurse noticed him staring.

She explained quietly that the girls had been found together, abandoned on church steps in the middle of the night, wrapped in the same blanket.

“No names. No notes,” she said softly. “People are willing to adopt one… maybe two. But never all. They’ll be separated soon.”

Separated.

The word struck him like a blade.

He thought of Anne’s voice.

Of her belief that family was chosen, not inherited.

His throat tightened.

“What if someone took them all?” he whispered.