St. Mary’s Orphanage

One cold, rain-soaked night, his old pickup truck broke down near St. Mary’s Orphanage on the edge of town.

He stepped inside just to use the phone.

But before he could dial for help, he heard something else.

Crying.

Not one cry.

Many.

He followed the sound down a dim hallway into a cramped nursery. Rows of cribs stood side by side.

Inside them were nine baby girls.

All dark-skinned.
All with wide brown eyes.
All reaching upward with fragile arms.

Their cries overlapped — one whimpering, another wailing, others fussing — creating a heartbreaking chorus that filled the room.

Richard froze.

Nine babies.

“They’ll Be Separated”

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