PART 1

I’m a 29-year-old SINGLE man.

I don’t have a wife, a massive savings account, or a giant house.

But right now, I am sitting in the hallway of a family court building, watching five terrified little kids—all under the age of seven—clinging to each other on a plastic bench.

In less than an hour, a judge is going to sign the papers that will tear them apart forever.

The system calls it ‘placement allocation.’

I call it a TRAGEDY.

Three weeks ago, these kids LOST EVERYTHING in an instant.

I didn’t even know them, but when I saw their faces in the local emergency placement registry, my chest tightened.

The social workers told me it was IMPOSSIBLE.

‘You’re a single bachelor, Mason.

You can’t raise five toddlers.

We have three different homes lined up in three different counties.’

The thought of them being loaded into SEPARATE cars, screaming for one another, made me sick to my stomach.

So, I did something crazy.

I cleaned out my entire savings, bought five car seats, converted my workshop into a giant bedroom with bunk beds, and hired a family lawyer with the LAST of my cash.

Now, we are finally standing before Judge Harrington.

The state’s attorney is ruthlessly painting me as an unqualified, naive young man who has NO idea what he’s getting into.