I drive my little car back to the house, following three huge trucks filled with men who are pledging themselves to me, not just now but also for the future.
As we pull into the driveway, the home that my father chose for his family smiles down on me. It’s such a pretty house. A house that’s meant to be filled with family, not sold to a developer and demolished. Even if we could sell it to another family, I’d be jealous that they’d get to live here. I try to imagine a toddler finding their feet inside, and I can. I try to imagine sending a little boy or girl for their first day of kindergarten from that front door, and I can. My heart clenches, imagining the men who are pouring from their vehicles, waiting for me, standing behind me on that day, faces as proud as mine.
They’d accept my child with open arms, just like they’ve accepted me.
This isn’t a house of judgment or expectations that place a burden on shoulders. This is a place of hope and happiness, security and love. My dad made this place for these boys, and maybe it can be a place for me too.
Dwayne holds the door open for me, and I follow them up the stairs until we reach the closed door to Dad’s room. I never got to finish the job Dad left me to do. Sean is the one to turn the handle, and when he does, my hands fly to my mouth. John puts his hand on my back, urging me forward. They’ve decorated the room just for me, and I think they must have had help with the design because it reminds me of the room that I stayed in at the Jackson ranch. The bed has been replaced by one with a giant white painted wooden frame with intricate engraving. Pretty white cotton sheets edged with lace, and a soft yellow comforter makes it feminine and pretty. In the corner, a white crib stands on a soft furry rug, complete with an animal mural that looks hand painted — Reggie’s awesome work. On the wall, there are framed pictures, and as I get closer, I find images of Dad and me and of my foster brothers too. Family photos that fill my heart with warmth and make this place feel like home to me.
“Do you like it?” Sean asks.
“I… I love it,” I say. Tears leak from my eyes as I gaze around at their faces, expressions a mixture of pride and happiness through to trepidation. This is their way of showing me what they want. This is my room and my baby’s room, but the bed is big enough for some of them to share it with me. They’ve left it open to me to choose, and that’s what makes me want to cry so hard that my whole body shakes.
John must sense how close I am to breaking down, and he steps forward, pulling me into his familiar chest, wrapping his big arms around my body. I bury my face in his soft shirt, breathing in his familiar, comforting scent.
As they all crowd around, resting hands on my shoulders, turning me so that they too can hug me, I know for sure. These men want to be everything to me. They’ve made a place for my baby and me in their lives. They’re trying to prove what the words they’ve been saying to me haven’t quite managed to get through to me. That this isn’t just about fulfilling some kind of oath or about guilt, this is about genuine feelings and hopes for their future.
This is about love.
I feel it in their embrace and in the soft touch of their hands, and gentle kisses pressed to my forehead. I see it in the effort they put into making this place my home. I hear it in their gentle murmurs against my ears. “This is your home, Maggie.” “We want you to stay, Maggie.” “We want you in our lives, Maggie.” “Don’t ever leave us again.”
And in that moment, standing between my foster brothers in a new room that they’ve created for me, I finally feel at home.
