I stood before the court and told the truth: when I was nine, I had sat in that same courthouse with my own four siblings after our parents were gone. A judge separated us into homes across three counties, and I never saw two of them again. My attorney stopped taking notes, Beverly lowered her clipboard, and even the state’s attorney fell silent. I explained that my mortgage was current, my carpenter’s insurance could be expanded, and I had created an investment plan to support the children without draining the modest estate my parents left behind. The judge asked Eli what he wanted, and the boy answered, “I want us to stay together.” After reviewing the inspection and supervision plan, the court denied the separate placements and granted me temporary custody.

Lila ran toward me before the clerk finished printing the paperwork. The twins wrapped their arms around my shoulders, and Eli finally stopped pretending he was not afraid. Beverly handed me the custody order and said the court would monitor our progress until the adoption could be completed. That afternoon, I buckled all five children into my van, and no one asked which house they were being sent to. On the drive home, Eli caught my eye in the mirror and asked whether we were truly staying together. I told him yes, and when he smiled, I quietly thought of the brother I had lost—and the promise I had finally found a way to keep.