PART 2
One week before the wedding, Robert disappeared. His truck was gone, his phone was off, and no one had seen him. Then I found a note on the kitchen table that said, “I’m sorry. I can’t do this anymore.” No explanation. No goodbye.
My mother told me to leave and let the system take the children. Relatives and friends said the same thing. They told me I was too young to throw my life away. But when I looked at those ten frightened faces around the kitchen table, I knew I could not abandon them.
At the county office, a social worker warned me that ten children were too much for one person. Still, I signed the guardianship papers. The adoptions took years, but in my heart, they became mine that day.
The first years nearly broke me. I worked at a fabric warehouse during the day and sewed uniforms at night. The children helped however they could. Amanda cooked, Derrick fixed things, Sue handled laundry, and the twins fought over chores.
I never really dated again. Whenever a man heard “ten children,” he disappeared. But I didn’t regret my choice. Over the years, the children grew up. They became nurses, teachers, engineers, business owners, and helpers of others. Thirty years passed, and every Saturday, they came home with their own children, filling the house with noise, food, and love.
