One Carpenter Spent His Savings to Keep Five Young Siblings in His Woodshop

foster families.”

I tucked the empty folder under my arm and walked out.

By two o’clock that afternoon, I was sitting in the corner office of Diane, my attorney. Her desk was covered in legal volumes, and a silver lamp cast a yellow circle over my application papers. She was forty-two, sharp and precise, and she did not smile when I sat down.

I set a continue reading …