That same week, social services came to the house. “You’re not obligated to care for your brothers, Cade,” one of them told me. “You’re only 18. You have your whole life ahead of you.”
I looked past them into the spare room. Three cribs stood side by side, my brothers sleeping inside. “But I can do it,” I said. They exchanged looks before turning back to me. Finally, one of them nodded. “Okay. Then we will do this together.”
I grew up overnight. Not in a heroic, movie-worthy way. My life became endless night feedings, low-paying jobs, and finishing online classes on my phone while holding a bottle in one arm.
I remember sitting on the kitchen floor at three in the morning once. One of the boys was screaming, and I was so tired I couldn’t remember if I’d eaten that day. I whispered into his hair, “I don’t know what I’m doing.” He fell asleep anyway. He trusted me, even when I didn’t trust myself.
I wasn’t ready—but I stayed. I chose them every single day.
Eleven years passed in a blur of soccer practices, flu shots, and scraping together every dollar. Then he showed up. He stood on my doorstep like a ghost from my past.
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