In 1979, he adopted nine Black baby girls that no one wanted — what they became 46 years later will leave you speechless…

Part 2:

Richard didn’t sleep during those 48 hours.

Not because I didn’t want to, but because every minute had the weight of a lifetime… or nine.

The notebook where she had written the names was no longer just paper. It was a commitment. Alma, Lucy, Carmen, Agnes, Rosemary, Beatrice, Theresa,Pillar. Nine names for nine destinies she refused to see shattered.

The house, which had once seemed large and empty, now seemed ridiculously small to her. She paced back and forth, measuring spaces, imagining cribs, calculating how much each liter of milk, each diaper, each vaccine would cost.

But the numbers didn’t add up.

They never closed.

Clara returned at dawn on the second day. She didn’t scream this time. That was worse.

“You can still stop this,” he said, looking at the table covered in papers. “No one’s going to blame you.”

Richard looked up. His eyes were red, but steady.

—They’re already counting on me.

—You don’t know them.

—I don’t need to know them in order not to abandon them.

Clara pressed her lips together.

—Love is not enough.

—Neither is fear.

The silence between them grew heavy.