The process was complicated, expensive, and exhausting.
Still, I stayed.
I sold my truck to cover several months of bills.
I accepted every extra shift I could find.
I learned to wake before sunrise and prepare six lunches without mixing up anyone’s preferences.
I watched online tutorials until I could braid hair without making the girls look as though they had walked through a storm.
I signed school forms, attended parent meetings, washed uniforms late at night, and sat beside hospital beds during fevers and broken bones.
I learned that children rarely grieve in predictable ways.
One child became quiet.
Another became angry.
One began leaving the hallway light on all night.
The youngest repeatedly asked whether the ocean could bring people back.
Noah pushed me harder than all the others.
He argued over rules, broke curfew, and challenged nearly every decision I made.
For a while, I thought he hated me.
