We didn’t rush it.
When he finally went, he called around ten.
“Everything okay?”
“Everything is fine.”
“Destiny didn’t get into anything?”
“Destiny is asleep.”
“She’s usually not asleep this early.”
“She is tonight.”
I smiled.
“Go enjoy yourself. I’ve got it.”
Silence.
Then:
“Okay.”
The following morning, he came home glowing with the satisfaction of a kid who had experienced something that belonged entirely to him.
That was the goal.
On the first anniversary of the day I brought them home, I made a chocolate cake.
It wasn’t fancy.
But all five children agreed on chocolate, which I considered a remarkable achievement in diplomacy.
We sat around the table.
I told them that one year earlier, our family had started.
And I was glad it had.
Marcus looked at me.
“You did a good thing.”
He said it like a factual statement.
Amara nodded.
“A really good thing.”
Joel had more important opinions about the cake.
Destiny wanted another slice.
Nina placed both hands on the table and looked around at everyone with the satisfaction of a child who knew exactly where she belonged.
I looked at them.
Twenty-nine years old.
Single.
No $22,000 savings account anymore.
No bigger property.
No land.
But I had this.
This table.
This cake.
These five particular people.
A year earlier, I had been sitting alone in my kitchen when I saw five children holding onto one another in a photograph.
Everyone had told me what I wanted to do was impossible.
It wasn’t impossible.
It was difficult.
There is a difference.
And it was worth it.
We finished the cake.
Then we continued.
Tomorrow, we will continue again.
That is what families do.
We keep going.
