When I heard about Charlotte’s death and her children through an old school friend who had kept me updated about her life, I knew I couldn’t walk away. I had already met her daughters once before, and that was enough.
I tracked down where they had been taken and showed up without warning.
The social worker looked stunned when I told her I wasn’t leaving without all nine girls.
The adoption process wasn’t simple. But she didn’t want the girls separated or lost in the system, so she quietly helped speed things along. Until everything was finalized, the girls stayed with me on a trial basis—because no one else wanted them.
People called me crazy. At times, I wondered if they were right.
Even my parents refused to support my decision—they stopped calling altogether.
People whispered behind my back, loud enough for me to hear:
“What’s a man like him doing raising nine girls who don’t even look like him?”
