“Are they moving me again? I don’t want to go alone.”
Those were the words Marcus whispered as I carried him off a collapsing porch during a raging flood. Water was rising fast, wood was breaking beneath our feet — but none of that frightened him. What terrified him was the idea of being sent away yet again. Another shelter. Another file. Another goodbye. He was a child who had learned too early that nothing was permanent, especially people.
Marcus had no parents waiting, no relatives calling his name. His childhood had been reduced to paperwork, temporary beds, and constant movement. At the emergency shelter, he stayed close, watching for me, memorizing my shifts as if routine itself could become safety. When officials transferred him to temporary housing, he didn’t ask for toys or comfort. He asked one thing, his voice barely steady: “Will you still come see me?”
Then came the meeting. The director explained that Marcus needed a permanent placement — a real home. I felt fear, doubt, and responsibility collide all at once. I had never planned to change my life that way. But plans don’t always matter when a child is quietly asking you not to disappear. So I said yes. I filled out the forms. I passed the background checks. I welcomed the home visits, the training, the waiting. Every step felt heavy — and absolutely right.
The day approval came through, Marcus didn’t pack for another move. He didn’t walk into another unfamiliar space. He came home. 🤍 He grew up watching what it meant to serve others, to show up when it mattered. Years later, at 18, he chose the same path — dedicating his life to helping people heal.
The child who feared being moved again never needed saving from the flood.
He just needed one place that never planned on letting him go. 🏡💙