Richard Miller’s life had become peaceful by 1979.
He was 34 years old and had lost his wife. Two years before, his wife Aipe had died following a protracted illness.
His house, which used to be full with kids’ hopes and dreams, now felt empty.
Richard’s nights were the hardest portion of his day. He sat at the kitchen table, looking at the painted paper that was falling apart in the yellow light of a solitary bulb. The ticking clock told him to pass the time.
His friends advised him to get married again, start anew, and fill the hole in his life.
Richard, on the other hand, didn’t want to start over.
He had to uphold the promise Apple made to him while he was in the hospital: “Don’t let love die with me.” Please tell me where I’m heading.
He kept driving because of the promise he made, even though he didn’t know where it would take him until his old, broken-down pickup truck broke down near the Santa Maria Orphanage on the edge of the city.
His muffled cry pulled him down the dark hallway as he hurried inside to use the phone and dry off.
There were rows of boxes next to each other in the small space.
Two women with dark skin and huge brown eyes reached into the room with their frail arms.
The sounds didn’t happen all at once; instead, they were layered on top of each other. One was whimpering, another was licking, and others were groaning, creating a heartbreaking chorus.
Richard’s body didn’t move.
Nine babies.
A nurse in her teens kept an eye on her.
She explained in a low voice that the women had been found together, brought down to the church steps at night, and then escorted back to the same residence.
She stated again in a low voice, “There are only two of you.” “I’ll adopt you, maybe two of you, but not all of you.” She will soon end their relationship.
The term “separated” hurt him deeply.
Richard thought about Appe’s request, which was based on his idea that the family was not based on blood but on election.
He became worked up and asked, “What if someone takes them all?”
The nurse almost burst out laughing.
“Those babies?” Sir, no one can look after babies. There are other people like me. Not even close. People would think you were nuts.
Richard, on the other hand, couldn’t hear their inquiries anymore.
He stepped up to the houses, and one of the babies glanced at him in horror, as if he knew who he was.
Someone else took his hand.
Someone else laughed out loud.
He felt something break inside him.
The emptiness that had been hard to bear with grew into something bigger yet still alive.
Being responsible.
“I will take them,” he said.
The choice caused a fight inside the government.
They said she was careless.
Her family thought she was a total moron.
People in the neighborhood were snorting behind their blinds and inquiring what a white man was doing with black babies.
People were saying even harsher things.
But Richard gave in.
She sold her car, Appe’s jewelry, and her equipment to get money for formula, diapers, and other things.
She asked for more work at the factory, worked extra hours at the restaurant, and mended roofs on the weekends.
Those kids got every penny.
She built their houses by hand, boiled baby bottles on the stove, and washed piles of colorful garments in her garden, which looked like battle tubs.
He found out that every soft touch comforted each baby.
With his clumsy fingers, he learnt how to braid hair.
He was so scared of losing even his breath that he stayed up all night in the dark gathering it.
People who didn’t know him thought he was mean.
The moms at the school weren’t sure.
A lot of people in the stores were staring at him.
He once spat on his feet and warned, “You will regret this.”
But there was never any regret.
When they got to the music store, though, it was the first time they had laughed.
He will hold them all till they pass out in his arms when the storms knock out the electricity at night.
On birthdays, there won’t be any cakes lined up, and on Christmas mornings, two individuals will rip up old newspapers and open gifts.
People who didn’t know them called them “Nine Millers.”
Richard thought of the Nine Millers as his daughters.
Sarah’s biggest laugh, Roth’s shy hold on his shirt, Naomi and Esther’s cookie cutters, Leah’s gentle kindness, Mary’s quiet fortress, and Happiness, Rachel, and Deborah, who were always together and filled the house with chatter, all became their own people.
It was hard work.
Even though she was in a lot of pain all the time and didn’t have much money, she let her unhappiness show.
Her girls looked up to her for strength, and this made her feel stronger.
They passed the test, which proved that love is stronger than hate.
By the end of the 1990s, her hair had thinned, her back had bent, and the girls had grown up to be women who established their own families, obtained jobs, and went to college.
Richard understood that this time everything was different, even if the home was quiet again.
There were items in it; it wasn’t empty.
He sat alone with the broken picture of the small pearls on her necklace the night the last daughter died and muttered, “I kept my promise, Appe.”
It’s been a long time.
Mothers, teachers, nurses, and craftsmen all did a good job.
They worked hard to make a living, but they always came home for the holidays, which made their house so hot that it might have broken down.
Richard, who had been made fun of and criticized before, survived to see his promise come true.
Richard sat in his fancy chair, frail but dignified, 46 years later, in 2025.
There were pretty women in cream-colored gowns all around him. Their hands were lightly resting on each other’s shoulders, and they were all smiling with pride.
The cameras turned on, and the news showed the following: He adopted two black girls in 1979. Check them out right now.