Chapter 6: "Decisions and Promises"
February 5, 1998 – Los Angeles, California
California Children's Home Society
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The winter sun fell slantingly on the orphanage, tinting the peeling walls orange and making the windows shine like old mirrors. Outside, children ran barefoot across the yard, chasing a patched-up cloth ball; their laughter bounced off the walls like small bells, filling the air with simple joy. Inside, the smell of reheated soup and wet detergent permeated the hallways. For everyone, it was just an ordinary afternoon.
But for Richard, it wasn't.
That day, Director Harris had called him into his office. It was a brief, almost bureaucratic, but sufficient conversation. He didn't need to be spelled out in long words: the adoption trial was near. Too near.
When he left the office, the door closing behind him, he felt the hallways narrower, the air weigh different. He walked to the dining room stairs and sat down, watching the others play. Lily was trying to catch Tommy, who was running, waving his arms like an airplane; Mark was arguing with another boy because, he said, he had cheated at dominoes. Everything seemed the same… and, at the same time, unreal, as if he were watching a movie of his own life from the outside.
The watch on his wrist glittered in the dim light. Tick, tock. Tick, tock. Every second was like an invisible countdown. A cruel reminder: soon he would no longer be "the kid from the orphanage," soon he would become "Jackson Evans's grandson."
A part of him wanted it so badly it scared him. A home, a family, someone who would choose him unconditionally. The promise of never being alone again. It was what he'd asked for when he blew out his candles, what he'd dreamed of so many nights staring at the ceiling.
But the other part... the other part clung tooth and nail to the present. Here he had his brothers of the heart. Here he had learned to share, to laugh, to defend himself, to get up after falling. Here Susan had tucked him in when he had a fever, here he had celebrated his first real birthday, here he had known what it was like to belong to a place, even an imperfect one.
Fear pierced him like an invisible dagger.
> "What if I'm wrong? What if out there isn't all it's cracked up to be? What if... I lose everything I have here?"
He brought his hand to his chest, pressing the clock as if he could use it to stop time itself. The metal was cold, but beneath his skin a storm was brewing.
"Richie?" Susan's voice pulled him from his thoughts. She stood in the doorway, a bundle of folded blankets in her arms. She looked at him with that expression only she knew how to muster: a mixture of concern and tenderness.
"What's wrong?" she asked, as if she could see right through him.
Richard faked a smile, shrugging his shoulders.
"Nothing... I was just resting."
Susan didn't believe him, but she didn't insist either. She simply walked over, placed a hand on his head, and ruffled his hair. That gesture, so simple, was enough to make Richard's throat tighten.
When she walked away, Richard looked back at the children. Lily smiled at him from across the yard, with that loose tooth that refused to fall out. Tommy called him over to join the game, shouting his name with the confidence of someone who believes their friend will always be there.
And then he felt it more clearly than ever: he was about to lose something precious. Something he didn't want to leave behind.
His heart was split into two halves that couldn't reconcile: the desire to have a family... and the fear of letting go of the one he'd already found.
—
That afternoon, the orphanage courtyard seemed more alive than ever. The sun was setting slowly, tinting the rusty bars and cracked walls with gold. Lily and Tommy had turned a corner into their "ultimate fortress": stacked cardboard boxes, old blankets hanging like makeshift walls, and a couple of broomsticks serving as spears against the zombie army that only they could see.
Richard watched them for a while in silence. Lily shouted orders like a miniature general, and Tommy obeyed with the seriousness of a soldier, even though the rope he was trying to tie kept slipping through his fingers. For a second, Richard wanted to stay silent and pretend nothing was changing. He wanted to be part of that game, not the secret that was suffocating him.
But he couldn't.
He sat in front of the "fortress," playing with the sleeves of his sweater.
"I have to tell you something…" he murmured, his voice quieter than he intended.
Lily looked up, her face smeared with dirt and a leaf stuck in her hair.
"What? Another one of your weird video game lines?"
Richard tried to smile, but it didn't work. He shook his head slowly.
"No. It's about me... and Jackson."
Tommy dropped the rope. He looked at him straight, without blinking.
"Mr. Suit?"
Richard's heart leapt. He tried to say it quickly, as if it would hurt less:
"I'm going to... maybe I'm going to go with him. Live with him."
The silence that fell weighed more than any scream. Lily pressed her lips together tightly, lowering her gaze as if searching for something on the ground. Tommy, on the other hand, glared at him, as if he'd just betrayed them in the middle of a battle with the zombies.
"So you're going to leave us?" he asked bluntly.
The words hit him like a slap. Richard opened his mouth, desperate.
"No!" I mean… I don't want to leave them.' Her hands trembled, balled into fists on her knees. 'But… I don't know, maybe that's what's going to happen.'
Lily raised her head slowly. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
'And do you want to?'
Richard gasped. That was the question that disarmed him, the one he'd avoided even asking himself. Because yes, he did. He wanted a family, a place where they'd finally wait for him, where he didn't feel like a number on a list. But he also wanted the nights telling made-up stories in the bunks, the laughter in the courtyard, the silly promises that they would always be 'the strongest squadron in the world.' He wanted both, and knew he couldn't have them.
He looked down, his voice a whisper:
'I'm scared. Afraid of leaving… and losing them.'
Lily looked at him tenderly, and without thinking, she crawled over to sit beside him. She leaned her head on his shoulder, like she used to do when she had nightmares.
"You're not going to lose us, silly." She smiled faintly, that crooked smile that always managed to calm him. "You're just going to have to visit us a lot."
Richard swallowed, trying to believe it.
Tommy, who was still rigid, suddenly let out a long sigh. His frown slowly loosened.
"Look, Rick. If that suit guy is your chance, don't waste it." He raised an accusing finger, serious, as if giving him a military order. "But you better not forget about us. Even if you become a millionaire... or famous... or an astronaut."
Richard blinked, surprised by the mixture of harshness and affection in those words.
"Do you really think... I'm not going to lose you?"
"Never," Lily said firmly, raising her pinky as if sealing an oath. Then she playfully punched him in the arm. We're like a squadron. And squadrons don't break up.
The boy couldn't help but smile, even though his eyes filled with tears. That innocence, that blind faith in them, was the only thing that gave him the strength to take the next step. Because maybe, just maybe, leaving didn't mean breaking up... but rather building a bridge between the worlds he loved.
And in that moment, between cardboard boxes and threadbare blankets, they sealed the most important promise of all:
No matter what happened, they would always be family.
—
Susan had approached the patio with the intention of letting them know that dinner was almost ready. From the doorway, she saw the three children tangled up in boxes and blankets, the late-afternoon sun painting their faces. But something about Richard's stillness made her stop.
He wasn't laughing as usual, or making sarcastic jokes. He was sitting between Lily and Tommy, his head down, speaking in a tone she rarely heard. A strange seriousness for a boy of barely five.
Susan frowned, ready to intervene, but then she saw him. She saw Lily resting her head on Richard's shoulder, like a little sister who didn't want to let go. She saw Tommy, serious, giving him advice that sounded too grown up for his age. And she saw Richard... struggling between tears and smiles, trying to be strong even though he was falling apart inside.
He put a hand to his chest. That boy, the same one who had so often put up walls of sarcasm, was opening up. He was learning to say goodbye without completely letting go, to trust that he could have a new future without erasing his present.
"My God..." she whispered to herself, a lump in her throat.
She didn't want to interrupt. She couldn't. That moment was hers, theirs. So she stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching the little ones seal their promise with a raised pinky finger and a nervous laugh.
And she realized something that filled her with relief and sadness at the same time:
Richard was learning to let go.
And she, like everyone else in the orphanage, would have to learn too.
Susan smiled through unshed tears, turning around slowly. She walked quietly toward the kitchen, with a certainty in her heart: that boy was about to take a giant leap. And although it hurt to see him go, he wouldn't do it alone anymore.
—
That night, when the orphanage fell silent, barely broken by the distant murmur of snores and the creaking of a bunk bed, Susan went out into the hallway. She knew he was there: Jackson had arrived later than usual, his briefcase slung over his arm, his tie loose, and the same upright demeanor that seemed impossible to break.
"Can I talk to you?" Susan said, crossing her arms, firm, as if preparing for battle.
Jackson raised an eyebrow, but nodded without hesitation. He followed her to the caretakers' break room, a modest place, lit only by a lamp that cast a yellowish glow on the table littered with papers, broken toys awaiting repair, and forgotten coffee cups. The contrast between that chaotic space and Jackson's impeccable figure was almost ridiculous.
Susan leaned against the table, taking a deep breath.
"I know what you're doing," she began, her tone a mixture of reproach and admiration. She's winning Richard over. And believe me... it's not easy for him to let himself be won over.
Jackson didn't respond. He just watched her with those eyes that seemed to analyze every word, every gesture, without judgment. That calm made her uncomfortable, but also compelled her to continue.
"But I'm also worried," she added, and this time her voice softened, as if the weight of the confession forced her to lower her guard. "That boy has already carried too much neglect. He's been hurt more times than he'll admit. If you let him down... I don't know if he can bear it again."
Jackson stood still. He could have given a perfect speech, full of promises and pretty phrases. But he didn't. He placed a hand on the back of a chair, leaning slightly toward her, and spoke with dry, unadorned honesty:
"I didn't come to play with your life. I came to stay."
The words hung in the air like a certainty. Susan looked at him carefully, searching for cracks, a sign of arrogance, of deceit. But what she found disconcerted her: there was no arrogance in his tone, no pose. Only truth. Raw.
With a tired sigh, he sank into the nearest chair. The fatigue of years at the orphanage, of caring for so many children coming and going, weighed heavily on his shoulders.
"It makes him happy," he admitted softly, almost with resignation. "Even if he doesn't say it, even if he pretends he doesn't care about anything... with you, Richard smiles differently. As if he believes that... maybe he can have something good."
Jackson lowered his gaze, and for a moment, the hardness on his face cracked. His fingers drummed on the back of the chair, as if he needed a physical gesture to contain what he felt.
"That's all I want," he said finally, slowly, with a weight that sounded like a promise.
Susan watched him for a moment longer. The distrust didn't completely disappear; She couldn't do it overnight. But something changed. She saw him not just as a rich, elegant man who could buy things for the orphanage, but as someone who was truly willing to fight for Richard.
For the first time, her eyes didn't judge him with hostility, but with a silent, cautious, but real respect.
The clock on the wall struck a new minute. Outside, the wind gently tapped the windows. And in that small The room was in disarray, and without either of them saying so, it was clear that they both shared the same mission: to protect Richard.
—
Two days before the trial, Richard exploded.
It was nighttime, and the orphanage was silent. The only sounds were Susan's tired footsteps at the end of the hallway and the creaking of the old wood in the drafts. Harris had called him into his office that afternoon to remind him to "start packing your things, just in case everything turns out okay." But those words weren't a relief; they were a gunshot.
Richard ran up to his bedroom, his chest burning. He barely slammed the door shut when he ripped his watch from his wrist and threw it at the bed as if it were his fault. The metallic shine was lost in the sheets as he sank into the bunk, his face buried in his hands.
Tears fell without permission.
"I don't want to go..." he whispered, first as a stifled thought, then louder, his voice cracking. "I don't want to!"
A few minutes later, the sound of the door opening startled him. Jackson appeared in the doorway. He wasn't carrying his jacket or briefcase, just his shirt, wrinkled by the hours and a tiredness that made him seem less untouchable. She saw him there, hunched over, his shoulders shaking, and felt something in her chest wrench.
She didn't approach immediately. She took a slow step, then another, like someone entering sacred ground. She let him unburden himself.
"If I leave... I'll lose them," Richard murmured between sobs, his voice thick with despair. "Lily, Tommy, everyone. I have something here. Here... I'm not alone."
Jackson stood, listening, without interrupting.
"What if you leave me too?" Richard looked up, his eyes red, his face wet. "What if one day you decide I'm no longer worth it?"
Those words cut through Jackson like knives. He felt the wind drain from his lungs, as if the weight of his past, all his mistakes, all his absences, were summed up in them. But he didn't back down. On the contrary, he moved forward and sat on the edge of the bunk, at his level.
"Look at me, Richard."
The boy hesitated, but obeyed. His eyes, red-rimmed and filled with rage, stared into his.
Jackson held that gaze firmly, even though it hurt inside.
"I can't promise you there will never be pain. Life hurts. It always hurts." His voice was deep, raspy, as if every word came from a scar. "But I can promise you one thing: I will never choose to leave. Never."
Richard looked at him skeptically, fearfully, like a wounded animal that doesn't know whether to trust. His lower lip trembled.
"And how do I know it's true?" she asked, almost shouting, as if she wanted to push him away before letting him in.
Jackson took a deep breath. Then he reached out slowly, the same hand he'd placed on the table that afternoon in the cafeteria. This time there was no coffee or cookies, only darkness and the weight of an oath.
"Because I've already lost you once," he said, his voice cracking but firm. "And I won't survive losing you again."
Silence filled the room. The only sound was Richard's labored breathing, mixed with a couple of sobs that escaped against his will.
He remained motionless for a few seconds, until, with small, trembling hands, he reached for Jackson's. He hesitated only slightly, then held it with all the strength he had, as if that gesture was the only thing keeping him safe from the abyss.
The contact was electric. For Richard, it was like anchoring a ship in a storm. For Jackson, it was like recovering something he'd been searching for for decades.
In the dimness, the clock gleamed above the bed, abandoned but present, as if sealing that invisible promise between them.
That night, in that small room, the last barrier crumbled. And for the first time, Richard no longer felt alone.
---
The morning of the trial dawned cold, with a gray sky that seemed to weigh down on the orphanage. Jackson's black car waited at the entrance, shiny and solemn, as if he knew this day wasn't just another day.
Richard got out slowly, his small backpack slung over his shoulder. It wasn't much: a couple of T-shirts, a worn-out book, and the oversized watch on his wrist. Beside him, Susan walked silently, her lips pursed, her gaze concealing a thousand emotions. Behind her, Lily and Tommy tried to keep up, though their legs seemed heavier than usual.
As they reached the car, the air was filled with a suppressed sadness. Lily walked ahead, her cheeks flushed and her eyes shining.
"Promise me you'll come back on the weekends," she said, her voice trembling but trying to sound strong.
Richard stared at her, as if imprinting her face on his memory. She swallowed and smiled at him, though it trembled.
"I promise they won't get rid of me that easily. I'm going to come here so often they'll get bored of me."
Lily let out a short laugh, stifled by tears, and hugged him with all her might. Richard felt the warmth of her small arms and knew that leaving that place didn't mean leaving her.
When they broke away, Tommy approached without saying anything. She looked at him for a second, with that strange seriousness he sometimes had, and then suddenly hugged him all at once. It was an awkward, strong, almost desperate hug. Richard stood still for a moment, surprised, and then returned the hug, squeezing him just as tightly.
When Tommy pulled away, he murmured softly, as if it were a secret only the two of them could share:
"Go win your game, Rick."
Those words fell on Richard like a weight and an impulse at the same time. He didn't know if he wanted to cry or laugh, so he just nodded tightly, biting his lip to keep from breaking completely.
Susan, who had been watching silently, leaned toward him. She adjusted his backpack on his shoulder with that automatic motherly gesture she couldn't avoid. Her voice came out soft, full of love and concern.
"You know who you are, Richard. Don't let anyone change that."
He looked at her, his eyes moist. He didn't say anything, because words fell short, but his silence was a greater thank you than any words.
Jackson waited by the side of the car, letting everything happen without interruption. His serious face hid the wave of emotions inside him. When Richard approached, the man opened the back door and waited for him to get in. Before getting in, the boy turned his head one last time.
The orphanage was there, with its old, peeling facade, with the children looking curiously from the windows, with Susan, Lily, and Tommy standing as if they were his squadron seeing him off on the front lines.
Richard raised his hand in a quick gesture, and they did the same. It was a goodbye and a promise at the same time.
He got into the car next to Jackson. The engine roared, and the vehicle began to move forward. Richard pressed his forehead against the glass, staring until the orphanage disappeared from view into the streets.
The fear was still there, tightening his chest. Fear of the unknown, fear of losing what he loved. But there was something stronger, something that wouldn't let him break: the certainty that he wasn't alone.
Beside him, Jackson glanced at him. He saw the boy's wet eyes, the way he clutched his watch, and understood without words. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
Richard didn't look at him, but he didn't look away either. And silently, he thought:
> "Game Over... no. This is just beginning."
---