She squeezed his hand.
“Sometimes family is the person who refuses to leave you behind.”
Richard looked toward the old photograph of Anne.
For the first time in forty-six years, he didn’t feel only sadness when he thought about her.
He felt gratitude.
Because Anne had been right.
Love hadn’t died with her.
It had multiplied.
Nine times.
And then those nine daughters multiplied it again.
Years later, the Anne Miller Family Center would help hundreds of children find temporary homes, scholarships, food, and families willing to love them.
And above the entrance, the nine sisters placed one simple sentence:
“No child should ever have to wonder if someone will choose them.”
Richard visited the center every Sunday until he was too old to drive.
And whenever someone asked him whether he regretted adopting nine babies on that rainy night in 1979, he always gave the same answer:
“That wasn’t the night I saved nine children.”
He would smile.
“That was the night nine children saved me.”
