Charles's Point of View.
Years had passed since I had felt whole again, surrounded by the joy of my family. It was during that time of renewed happiness that the thought of adopting two more daughters first took root. Now, however, a wave of reconsideration washed over me. My greatest fear was introducing anything that might fracture the precious bond we shared, especially considering how wonderfully Ace had blossomed.
She had a natural affinity for computing and possessed her mother's slender build. For someone to underestimate her physical capabilities based on her appearance would be a grave mistake. Though generally calm and respectful, Ace was also remarkably observant and quiet. She was the sharper of my two daughters, her hacking skills nothing short of extraordinary.
Vesta, on the other hand, has a commanding presence that few would dare challenge. Her powerful and somewhat untamed nature meant that crossing her was an invitation to trouble.
My girls were no longer children. They were mature, disciplined, and understanding. The prospect of bringing adopted daughters into our fold shouldn't, I hoped, disrupt the tight-knit unity we cherished. In fact, preserving that very unity was the reason I had hesitated for so long to proceed with the adoption my wife and I had once discussed.
On a seemingly ordinary morning, I found myself on a bus heading towards Brunswick. I had initially intended to adopt outside of Florida. But as I neared the city, doubt began to creep in. Adopting two fifteen-year-olds simultaneously felt…conspicuous, potentially creating unwanted attention regarding the sensitive mission I envisioned for them.
The realization hit me with the force of a physical blow: I had made a significant error. I should have kept those infant girls I had left at the orphanages. Now, I was facing the complicated process of adoption, maneuvering to avoid any legal repercussions. My biggest regret was not even naming them, a consequence of my frustration and disappointment at the time. Without names, tracing them now would be impossible.
The original plan with my wife was to adopt two girls. Yet, as the taxi sped through Brunswick, my thoughts swirled. Perhaps I should consider four instead of two. Six daughters. The thought was both daunting and strangely appealing. And I wouldn't adopt them all from the same place.
My first stop was an orphanage in Brunswick. Luck seemed to be on my side. A particular girl, around thirteen years old, was considered too old for that facility and was scheduled to be transferred. I arrived just in time.
The paperwork was surprisingly straightforward, likely due to her impending transfer. And despite the unusual circumstances of finding a girl her age available, she possessed the very qualities I was looking for. I was drawn to her physique, and she was undeniably beautiful.
The connection was instant. She chose me, and I chose her. Even the staff remarked on our uncanny resemblance during the brief time it took to finalize the adoption. Her name was Oscar.
I felt an immediate connection with Oscar, a warmth that seemed reciprocated. Our first stop after the orphanage was a mini-mart, where I indulged her with the treats children typically enjoyed.
As we exited the store, I scanned for a taxi to take us to the next orphanage. "Are we going home now, Father?" Oscar's innocent question caught me off guard.
My eyelids fluttered as my gaze slowly descended to meet hers. Father. The word echoed in the sudden quiet of my mind, a headline flashing across the internal news ticker of my brain.
"No, darling," I managed, my voice slightly unsteady. "We're going to another orphanage to find a girl closer to your age."
"Am I not enough for you, Father?" Her voice, sweet and guileless, tugged at my heart. Shame washed over me. I wanted to explain that we were adopting more girls because… but before I could finish, her curiosity burst forth.
"Girls? Not just one?"
Just then, a reckless driver sped past, showering us in a spray of foul-smelling water. Surprisingly, I welcomed the unpleasantness. It offered a temporary reprieve from Oscar's probing questions, ones I wasn't yet ready to answer. I quickly steered the conversation towards the careless driver, maintaining the new topic until we hailed a taxi and continued to the next orphanage.
At the second orphanage, I informed the staff that I was looking for a girl around thirteen. Moments later, they brought a girl to where Oscar and I were seated.
I looked at her, then turned to Oscar. "Do you like her?" Oscar nodded enthusiastically, her face alight with excitement.
The girl herself seemed withdrawn and unhappy. "Horny, what's wrong?" I asked gently.
"Her name is Helen!" a nun corrected sharply.
I addressed her by her name. "Helen, don't you want to come with us?" Her eyes welled up with tears.
"You are definitely going!" the nun declared sternly.
Oscar immediately reached out and embraced Helen, cradling her head against her chest and leaning back slightly to accommodate their similar height.
When we went to gather Helen's belongings, the reason for her sadness became clear. While the nuns seemed to harbor a dislike for her, the other children were clearly devoted to her. As they learned she was leaving, they erupted in tears, each child hugging her tightly to say goodbye.
It was a scene of profound affection, one rarely witnessed. I even felt a tear trace a path down my mustache before realizing I had joined the children in their sorrow. Oscar, too, was crying.
Later, I learned from the children that the nuns resented Helen because, despite their reprimands and punishments, the other children would only obey Helen. She was, they said, kind and responsible, often taking the blame for their misdeeds.
She certainly didn't project that image initially. It was a stark reminder of the adage: never judge a book by its cover. I had almost dismissed her upon first glance, which was why I had sought Oscar's opinion. She was pretty, but her initial expression was off-putting.
The emotional intensity of the goodbyes made it impossible to continue to another city to adopt more girls that day. Instead, we headed home, the weight of my decisions settling upon me. All the way back, I couldn't shake the question: would this impulsive action bring destruction or growth to the family I held so dear?