At 14 I was left to raise my 6-year-old brother until the system tore us apart
At 14, I promised my 6-year-old brother Samuel, “This isn’t forever,” when the system took him away. Through eight foster homes, three jobs, and night school, I saved every dollar for an apartment with his dinosaur sheets and teddy bear waiting. During supervised visits, Samuel whispered, “When can I come home?” I’d choke out, “Soon,” praying it was true.
The final custody hearing felt like our last chance. The social worker called me “too young,” and the judge frowned at my papers. Samuel cried in the back. But my landlady, Mrs. Rachel, offered a spare room for the same rent, and I painted it Samuel’s favorite blue. A lawyer and Samuel’s foster mom supported my case. In court, I pleaded, “I’ve cared for Samuel his whole life. I can give him a safe, loving home.” The judge agreed: “Samuel belongs with his brother.” We hugged tightly, finally together. “Pizza to celebrate?” I asked. Samuel beamed, and I felt the magic of family.