“I’ll take them.”
Sister Catherine blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“I’ll adopt them,” Richard said again, louder, as if speaking it made it real. “All of them.”
Sister Catherine stared at him like he’d spoken another language.
“Mr. Miller…” she began carefully. “You’re alone.”
“I know.”
“Nine babies are… a lifetime,” she said. “It isn’t—this isn’t like getting a puppy. It’s diapers and bottles and sickness and school and—”
“I know,” Richard repeated, though he didn’t. Not really. But he knew the important part: he knew what it would mean if he walked away.
Sister Catherine studied his face, searching for something—recklessness, ego, impulse.
Richard’s hands shook slightly, but his gaze didn’t.
“I don’t want them separated,” he said, voice thick. “Not if I can stop it.”
Sister Catherine’s eyes glistened. “Why would you do this?” she asked, almost pleading. “Why would you take on something so… impossible?”
Richard swallowed hard.
“Because my wife told me not to let love die,” he said simply. “And I have love left. Too much. I need somewhere to put it.”
For a moment, Sister Catherine said nothing. Then she exhaled slowly.
“This won’t be quick,” she warned. “There are courts. Social workers. Home inspections. People who will question your sanity.”
Richard nodded. “Then they can question it.”
Sister Catherine looked toward the nine cribs again.
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