Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Malcolm
The house was unusually quiet for a weekday afternoon.
Most of the younger kids were inside, watching TV or playing games, but there was a strange stillness in the air, like everyone could sense that something important was happening.
I stood near the back of the common room, arms crossed, watching as the house director straightened her blouse for the third time in two minutes.
She looked nervous, which wasn’t a good sign.
It meant whoever was coming today mattered. And I already knew exactly who it was.
The Sinclairs.
I had been trying not to think about it since last night, but the thought kept creeping in, refusing to be ignored.
The adoption. The papers. The possibility of a future that wasn’t just another placement, another temporary roof over my head.
It was the kind of thing kids in the system dreamed about, but I had learned a long time ago that dreaming only made it worse when reality hit.
The door opened, and they walked in.
Arthur Sinclair stepped in first, tall and confident, dressed in one of those expensive-looking suits that somehow didn’t make him seem unapproachable.
His graying hair was neatly combed back, and he had that air of quiet authority, the kind that made people respect him without even realizing why.
Right beside him was Evelyn, wearing a soft beige coat, her expression warm and eager, eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. Her face lit up instantly.
A ripple of whispers passed through the room. The other kids stared, some wide-eyed, some skeptical, most just curious. I stayed where I was, waiting, bracing myself for whatever was about to happen.
Arthur spotted me and smiled, walking over without hesitation. When he reached me, he clapped a firm but not overwhelming hand on my shoulder. “It’s official, son. You’re coming home with us.”
The words didn’t sink in immediately. They just hung there, floating in the air, like my brain didn’t quite know what to do with them. I opened my mouth, then closed it, nodding slightly as Evelyn stepped closer, her hands clasped together.
“We have everything planned,” she said, her voice full of excitement. “Your room, your school, your future—everything.”
Everything.
That word sat heavy in my chest, pressing down on something that I couldn’t quite name.
I should have felt excited. This was what every foster kid wanted, wasn’t it? A family. A real future. A place where I wasn’t just another file in a caseworker’s cabinet.
But instead of excitement, I felt terrified.
What if they changed their minds? What if I messed this up? What if I got too comfortable, let myself believe this was real, only for it to be ripped away like everything else?
Arthur must have noticed the hesitation on my face because his expression softened. He placed a hand on my shoulder again, gentler this time.
“Malcolm,” he said quietly, “we don’t just want to adopt you. We want you to be our family.”
Something inside me cracked.
I had spent years building walls, telling myself I didn’t need anyone, that I didn’t care. But hearing those words? They hit something deep, something buried so far down that I almost didn’t recognize it.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. My chest ached in a way that wasn’t entirely painful but wasn’t comfortable either. I nodded quickly, not trusting myself to speak. Arthur gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before stepping back.
Evelyn smiled, reaching out like she wanted to hug me but stopping herself, waiting to see if I’d be okay with it. I wasn’t sure if I was, so I just nodded again.
The house director cleared her throat, looking at the papers in her hands. “We’ll finalize everything this week. But as far as I’m concerned, Malcolm is officially part of the Sinclair family.”
There was a brief silence before a few of the younger kids cheered, some clapping, some just staring in awe like I had just won the lottery.
Even a few of the older kids looked impressed, though some of them had that guarded expression—the one that said they’d seen too many kids come and go, too many promises broken.
I understood that look. I had worn it myself for years.
But this was real.
I was leaving.
I let the reality of it settle in, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out what I was supposed to feel. My head was a mess, my stomach twisted up in a way I didn’t fully understand. It was overwhelming, too much all at once. I needed air.
I glanced toward the door, my body already moving before I had a chance to think about it.
Stepping out onto the front porch, I took a slow, shaky breath.
The air was cool, crisp in a way that grounded me, but my thoughts were still spinning.
I rubbed the back of my neck, staring down at the wooden steps.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw her.
Summer stood at a distance, near the side of the building, half-hidden by the old tree where we usually sat. Her arms were crossed, her hair pulled up in that messy ponytail she always wore when she wasn’t trying to impress anyone.
For a second, we just looked at each other.
She didn’t smile, didn’t crack a joke, didn’t do anything except give me a small, almost hesitant wave. It wasn’t her usual dramatic, over-the-top kind of wave. It was quieter, more restrained.
Something about that made my chest tighten even more.
I lifted my hand slightly, returning the gesture.
Then, before I could say anything, before I could even think of what I wanted to say, she turned around and walked away.
I stood there, staring after her, feeling something unfamiliar press against my ribs.
This was happening.
I was getting adopted. I was getting a real family.
But somehow, in that moment, all I could think about was the fact that Summer was slipping away.