In a cramped room, rows of cribs stood side by side. Inside them were nine baby girls—all dark-skinned, all with wide brown eyes, reaching out with fragile arms.

The cries weren’t in unison but layered—one whimpering, another wailing, others fussing, together forming a heartbreaking chorus. Richard froze. Nine babies.

A young nurse noticed his stare. She explained quietly that the girls had been found together, abandoned on church steps in the middle of the night, swaddled in the same blanket. “No names, no notes,” she said softly. “People come willing to adopt one, maybe two, but never all. They’ll be separated soon.”

That word separated pierced him like a blade. Richard thought of Anne’s plea, of her belief that family was not bound by blood but by choice. His throat tightened as he whispered, “What if