Chapter 6
In Ivy’s room, the twins slept on blankets on the floor beneath a canopy of glow-in-the-dark stars. Ivy showed them Popcorn, the rabbit Sarah had made. Emily showed her Rose. Nora tucked Lily and Brownie beside her.
Before Logan turned off the light, Ivy whispered, “They can play with my things. Whenever they want.”
“Really?” Emily asked.
Ivy looked around at her toys, her books, her shelves of Sarah’s handmade memories.
“There are so many things for one person.”
Logan went downstairs that night and sat in the living room surrounded by an unfinished fort, dolls, crayons, and cushions.
The house looked messy.
Alive.
Beautiful.
For the first time since Sarah died, he smiled without feeling guilty.
Three weeks later, the doorbell rang.
Logan was in the kitchen making lunch. The girls were in the living room building a block castle, all three arguing cheerfully about whether castles needed stables, libraries, or a room just for dolls.
Ivy answered the door.
“Daddy,” she called. “There’s a lady here who wants to talk to you.”
Logan stepped into the foyer and saw a middle-aged woman holding a clipboard.
“Mr. Logan Matthews?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Carol Henderson with child welfare. We received a report that two undocumented children are living in this home.”
The room went cold.
Emily and Nora stopped playing.
Their castle stood unfinished between them.
Carol entered politely, professionally, not unkindly. But Emily’s face went pale. Nora reached for Emily’s hand.
“How long have they been here?” Carol asked.
“Three weeks,” Logan said.
“Do you have legal authorization to care for them?”
“No. I found them in an emergency. They had nowhere else to go.”
“I understand your intention, Mr. Matthews. But there are procedures. Children cannot remain in unauthorized care.”
“What does that mean?” Logan asked, though he already knew.
“It means Emily and Nora must be placed in state custody until the situation is regularized.”
“No!” Emily cried.
Nora burst into tears.
Ivy grabbed both their hands.
“They can’t go. They’re my sisters.”
Carol looked at Ivy gently.
“I understand you’ve become close.”
“They are not just close,” Ivy shouted. “They are my sisters. They live here.”
“They need to be somewhere legally approved while the court reviews the case.”
“My dad takes care of them,” Ivy insisted. “He makes pancakes. He bought them dolls. He lets them sleep in my room. He doesn’t yell.”
That last sentence broke Logan.
Carol’s face softened, but the law did not.
The twins packed with shaking hands. Their new dolls. A few clothes. Brownie, the one-eared bear. Ivy kept crying and saying, “No, no, no,” as if refusal alone could hold them in place.
At the car door, Emily clung to Logan.
“You promised.”
“I will keep my promise.”
“You said forever,” Nora sobbed.
“I know,” Logan said, his voice breaking. “And I will bring you home.”
Ivy hugged them both.
“You will always be my sisters. Even if you’re apart.”
The car drove away.
Emily and Nora looked back until the road turned.
Logan and Ivy stood on the sidewalk in the snow.
Across the street, Mrs. Wilson, their neighbor, stood behind her curtains.
Watching.
Satisfied.
Logan understood immediately who had reported them.
That night, the mansion returned to silence.
But it was worse now.
Before, the silence had been grief.
Now it was loss with toys still on the floor.
The block castle remained unfinished. Rose and Lily had been forgotten on the sofa because the twins were too frightened to remember everything. Ivy picked them up and held them like sacred objects.
“Dad,” she whispered, “will you really bring them back?”
Logan looked at his daughter.
This time, he understood the weight of the word promise.
“Yes,” he said. “I will do everything it takes.”
Monday morning at eight, he was in attorney David Chen’s office.
David reviewed the documents Logan had gathered over the weekend: the police report, Carol’s card, the girls’ names, the little he knew of their mother, the details about Rick Santos.
“This will not be simple,” David said.
“I don’t need simple.”
“Adoption can take six months to two years.”
Logan felt the air leave his lungs.
“No.”
“That is the reality.”
“Then we fight for temporary placement. Guardianship. Emergency review. Anything. They belong with us.”
David looked up.
“Us?”
“My daughter and me. Ivy considers them her sisters.”
Over the next six weeks, Logan moved with a focus his company had once feared and admired.
Financial statements.
Home inspections.
Psychological evaluations.
Parenting assessments.
Character references.
Background checks.
Medical reports.
Therapy recommendations.
He hired no publicist. Gave no statement. Posted no heroic story online. This was not charity. This was family business.
Dr. Rebecca Foster, the psychologist assigned to evaluate him, asked during their second session, “Why do you want to adopt Emily and Nora?”
Logan could have said because they needed a stable home.
Because he had resources.
Because the law should prioritize their wishes.
Instead, he said, “Because they are already my daughters in every way that matters, and because my first daughter became herself again when they came home.”
Dr. Foster studied him.
“And Sarah?”
Logan froze.
“Your wife,” she clarified. “Where does her memory fit in this new family?”
He looked toward the window.
“For a while, I thought loving anyone new would mean leaving Sarah behind. Ivy thought that too. But Emily and Nora didn’t replace her. They brought her back into the house. Ivy shares Sarah’s stories with them. She teaches them things Sarah taught her. It’s like grief finally started moving instead of just sitting in every room.”
Dr. Foster wrote that down.
May you like
Ivy wrote too.
With the help of her teacher, Mrs. Martinez, she wrote a letter to the judge.
