FIVE CHILDREN
I barely remember Mara and David’s funeral.
But I remember what happened afterward.
Adults gathered in small groups discussing the children as if they were pieces of furniture that needed to be distributed.
One could go here.
Two could stay there.
Maybe the youngest could live with someone else.
Everyone discussed how to divide five siblings.
Almost nobody asked how to keep them together.
Noah sat in the front pew holding his little sister’s hand.
He was eight years old.
He never cried.
Not once.
He simply stared toward the church doors as though his parents might walk back inside at any moment.
David’s parents arrived dressed in expensive black clothing.
People whispered about how successful they were.
How much money they had.
How generous they had always been.
I kept waiting for them to say the obvious.
“We’ll take the children.”
They never did.
After the service, I overheard them near the reception hall.
“Five is impossible.”
“We’re too old for this.”
“It would completely change our lives.”
Then came the sentence I never forgot.
“We’ll make sure they’re financially cared for.”
Financially.
That apparently was the part they were willing to provide.
Afterward came occasional Christmas phone calls.
And almost nothing else.
“THEY’RE COMING HOME WITH US.”
I drove back to our apartment without remembering a single traffic light.
Grant was sitting at the kitchen table when I walked inside.
“You saw the kids?”
I nodded.
“They’re terrified. Social services has them temporarily.”
Grant reached for my hand.
“What happens next?”
I answered before fear could stop me.
“They’re coming here.”
His expression changed.
“What?”
“They lost Mara and David.”
My voice cracked.
“They are not losing each other too.”
Grant slowly stood.
“Elena.”
“I mean it.”
“So do I.”
He dragged both hands across his face.
“We live in a two-bedroom apartment.”
“We’ll figure it out.”
“You’re still in school.”
“I know.”
“I married you because we were building our own life.”
“We still can.”
“No.”
Grant stared at me.
“What you’re describing is becoming the mother of five children overnight.”
“They already have a mother.”
I could barely get the sentence out.
“They just don’t have her anymore.”
Grant closed his eyes.
When he opened them, something in his expression had changed.
“I want to live my life, Elena.”
I said nothing.
“I’m not ready to become a father to five kids overnight.”
He walked into our bedroom.
Then I heard drawers opening.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Grant zipped his suitcase.
He looked at me.
“I wanted a wife.”
His voice was quiet.
“Not a woman struggling to raise five orphaned children.”
Then he walked past me.
The apartment door closed.
I never saw him again.
