The boys entered foster care.
I told myself my role in their lives had ended.
But I couldn’t forget them.
I started visiting.
First weekly.
Then twice a week.
Eventually, I called Raymond.
“I want to adopt them.”
I expected him to tell me I was being impulsive.
Instead, he answered immediately.
“Then let’s figure out how.”
Raymond helped with every form. He attended meetings, drove me to court, and told me to list him as part of my support system.
When I asked whether he wanted a life of his own, he simply smiled.
“This is my life.”
Months later, a judge approved the adoption.
“They’re yours, Kim.”
I named them Caleb and Noah.
And from that moment, they became my entire world.
Raymond remained there too.
He attended birthdays, school plays and holidays. He taught Noah to drive when I was too nervous. He drove through a snowstorm when Caleb was injured at hockey camp.
I always called him my best friend.
I never questioned why he never married.
I never questioned why he rarely dated.
For twenty years, I thought I understood our story.
Until my sons brought that basket back.
PART 2
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