“Yes, Your Honor,” I said. I was scared, but I meant it.
The day they moved in, my house stopped echoing. Four sets of shoes by the door. Four backpacks dumped in a pile.
“You’re not my real dad.”
The first weeks were rough.
Ruby woke up crying for her mom almost every night. I’d sit on the floor next to her bed until she fell asleep.
Cole tested every rule.
“You’re not my real dad,” he shouted once.
“I know,” I said. “But it’s still no.”
Tessa hovered in doorways, watching me, ready to step in if she thought she had to. Owen tried to parent everyone and collapsed under it.
“Goodnight, Dad.”
I burned dinner. I stepped on Legos. I hid in the bathroom just to breathe.
But it wasn’t all hard. Ruby fell asleep on my chest during movies. Cole brought me a crayon drawing of stick figures holding hands and said, “This is us. That’s you.”
Tessa slid me a school form and asked, “Can you sign this?” She’d written my last name after hers.
One night, Owen paused in my doorway. “Goodnight, Dad,” he said, then froze.
The house was loud and alive.
I acted like it was normal.
“Goodnight, buddy,” I said.