I had made one other promise, years before I met the children.

I had promised myself I would find my own siblings.

For a long time, that promise had been little more than a folder of returned mail, outdated addresses, and notes scribbled after late-night phone calls.

One Sunday, while the children were making paper animals at the kitchen table, I took the folder from my closet.

Inside was a photograph of five children wearing matching church clothes.

I was nine, with an enormous collar and a smile that was half bravado.