I thought my life had gone quiet forever.

I thought my life had gone quiet forever.

At 41, after losing my wife Eleanor to cancer, the silence in our home felt heavier than anything I’d ever built with my own hands. We had plans — a nursery painted yellow, long talks about baby names, a future that never came.

I’m a carpenter. I can fix almost anything.

But I didn’t know how to fix an empty house.

Then I read about four sisters — just little girls — about to be split apart. Different homes. Different schools. Different lives. When I met them, the oldest never let go of the youngest’s hand.

I couldn’t walk away.

So I became their dad.