COURT STARTED AT 1:15
The presiding judge was Miriam Vale.
She was in her early sixties.
Gray hair.
Reading glasses.
The kind of expression that made you feel she could tell whether you were lying before you had decided to lie.
The children were represented separately.
Family services presented its plan.
Then my attorney, Rachel Mercer, presented mine.
She explained that I was licensed.
Home approved.
Background clear.
Financially stable.
Support plan documented.
Vehicle adequate.
Business schedule adjusted.
Temporary childcare arranged.
Counseling referrals identified.
School transportation planned.
I had done everything.
And still—
when the county attorney stood, his concerns sounded completely reasonable.
“Mr. Reed has never parented.”
True.
“He is proposing to move immediately from no children to five children under seven.”
True.
“He is unmarried and therefore does not have a second caregiver residing in the home.”
True.
“His savings have already been substantially reduced by preparation expenses.”
Also true.
“The department appreciates Mr. Reed’s intentions, but good intentions do not guarantee placement stability.”
Definitely true.
I hated how much I agreed with the man arguing against me.
Then Judge Vale looked at me.
“Mr. Reed.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Please stand.”
I did.
She examined the file.
“You completed foster certification eighteen months ago.”
“Yes.”
“You declined four previous placement opportunities.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t feel I was the right home.”
“You were willing to accept one child then?”
“Yes.”
“And now you believe five are appropriate?”
“When I learned about their situation.”
She removed her glasses.
“Mr. Reed, I’m going to ask you something less legal.”
The courtroom became quiet.
“Why?”
I swallowed.
She continued.
“You are thirty.”
“Single.”
“You own a business.”
“You appear to have built an independent and comparatively uncomplicated life.”
Several people smiled slightly.
The judge didn’t.
“You have never met these children.”
“You have no biological relationship to them.”
“And yet, within three weeks, you reorganized your home, your finances, your work, and your future.”
She leaned forward.
“Why?”
That was the moment.
The question I had hoped nobody would ask.
My attorney looked at me.
She knew there was something I had not told her.
Elena knew too.
Judge Vale waited.
“Mr. Reed?”
I looked toward Mason.
He was holding Theo’s hand.
Grace held Evie.
Baby June slept against Elena’s shoulder.
Five.
I walked toward the microphone.
“My attorney is probably going to be angry with me.”
Rachel whispered:
“Extremely.”
A few people laughed.
Then I said:
“Your Honor, there’s something about my childhood that isn’t in the foster application.”
The room changed.
Judge Vale’s expression became serious.
“What?”
I gripped the edge of the podium.
“I was one of five.”
Nobody moved.
