“They’re breathing,” I whispered. “They’re cold, but they’re alive.”
Police officers, paramedics, and social workers arrived quickly. A social worker named Andrea told me the babies would be placed somewhere safe while authorities searched for their relatives. I should have walked away. Instead, I followed them to the hospital.
The nurses had temporarily named them Emily and Grace. I kept those names. At first, I told myself I was only concerned because they had nobody. Eventually, I admitted the truth: I wanted to become their father.
Andrea warned me that finding them did not give me special rights. I would have to complete background checks, parenting classes, home visits, and an adoption process that could take months. Then she asked the question I had been avoiding.
“Do you want these children because they need a father, or because you need a reason to keep living?”
“Both may be true,” I answered. “But only one can come first.”
