They always pictured their family growing slowly, one child at a time. Back in high school, she and Michael, her husband, now they used to talk about it, sometimes imagining kids of their own, sometimes thinking they’d adopt. After college, they got married and started trying. But every month, the tests came back negative. No answers from the fertility doctor, either. Just a vague, “Wait and see.” The waiting felt endless. She grew anxious, and sometimes sadness just swallowed her up.
Eventually, they shifted gears. Instead of more tests and treatments, they signed up for foster-care classes. They told themselves, “If we open our home to kids who need us, maybe this is how we build the family we want.” Still, hope started to slip away. Then, right when things felt darkest, the phone rang late one night. Their foster agency needed an emergency placement for a baby boy, eight months old, named Chase. He’d just been rescued from a situation marked “medical neglect.” They had two hours to get ready. Nine months shrunk down to just two hours.
She was working late, so Michael drove out to meet Chase. She kept checking the clock, heart pounding, wondering what on earth their life was about to become. When she finally got home, sweaty, the social worker was there with Chase. The moment caught her off guard. He didn’t cry or smile, just stared at her, calm but so fragile. Suddenly, their house wasn’t just theirs anymore. They were parents. Only, it didn’t feel permanent. Foster care is full of uncertainty. They were only supposed to care for him until the next court date.
They brought him home, held him close, but just a few days later, the judge said there wasn’t enough evidence to keep him from his biological mother. Chase had to go back. Her heart shattered. The joy of bringing home a baby turned, overnight, into grief. For weeks, she cried herself to sleep, wondering if they’d ever get the family they’d dreamed about.
Then the agency called again. This time, they had a six-week-old baby boy named Dylan who needed a foster home. They said yes. It felt like a second chance, a small hope that maybe their hearts could mend. But before they could even get Dylan settled, the agency called again: Chase was coming back. The state had appealed, and now, suddenly, they had two babies just like that. One day, no children. The next two baby boys are in their arms.
Taking care of two infants at once? It was chaos. Nights stretched on forever. Days blurred together, endless bottles, doctor visits, court hearings, meetings with birth parents. They tried to protect their hearts, but love crept in anyway. They counted every little milestone, worried over every sniffle, cheered every smile. But with foster care, peace never lasts. Every court date brought fresh anxiety. Any day, someone could take them away. They felt helpless, but poured their hearts into those boys.
And then, out of nowhere, the courts granted them adoption rights. Both Chase and Dylan were theirs. She dropped to the floor, sobbing. She and Michael held each other and said, “This is home.” Relief. Joy. Safety finally. Just when she thought she could finally breathe, life threw another curveball. Through IVF, a last, desperate try, she got pregnant. She’d stopped hoping for that. For a while, the doctors said everything looked perfect.
She almost didn’t believe it. And then came the news: not just one baby, not even twins, triplets. Three. She felt everything at once: fear, excitement, awe. Three tiny lives growing inside her, plus her two boys already at home. By the time those three little girls arrived, their house was bursting. Noise, chaos, love everywhere. Five kids. A family, through and through. Now, when she thinks back to those anxious nights, the phone calls, the waiting, and the heartbreak, she just feels grateful.
