A former employee of the county agency contacted Robert.
Then another.
Several people who had worked in child welfare during the relevant period acknowledged that sibling-contact decisions had sometimes been made without sufficient consideration of the children's wishes.
Some remembered the old policies.
Others remembered the pressure to finalize placements quickly.
One former supervisor offered to provide an affidavit.
Robert reviewed the information carefully.
He did not promise Mason that it would change the legal outcome.
But he believed the testimony could help establish what had happened.
Mason asked one question.
"Could this help other families?"
Robert nodded.
"It might."
"Then we should continue."
Hannah looked at him.
"Are you sure?"
Mason glanced toward Caleb and Mia, who were playing in the garden.
"Yes."
He paused.
"But I don't want them turned into a story."
"Neither do I," Hannah said.
"Then we keep their names out of it."
Robert agreed.
The investigation would focus on the decisions, the records, and the procedures.
The children would remain private.
Meanwhile, life continued.
Caleb started playing baseball.
Mia began taking piano lessons.
Hannah returned to work full-time.
Mason became a regular presence at the house.
Sometimes he arrived with groceries.
Sometimes he repaired something.
Sometimes he simply sat with Hannah after the children went to bed and listened while she talked about Daniel.
He learned how Daniel had proposed.
How he had cried when Caleb was born.
How he had once driven forty miles in the middle of the night because Hannah had mentioned wanting a particular kind of pie.
He learned about Daniel's habits.
The way he always checked the locks twice.
The way he hummed when concentrating.
The way he became quiet when he was worried.
The way he loved his children with an intensity that sometimes frightened him.
Mason listened to every story.
He did not try to replace Daniel.
He understood that nobody could.
Instead, he tried to become someone the children could rely on.
One afternoon, Caleb came home from school upset.
He had argued with a friend.
The argument had started over a game but had become personal.
Caleb threw his backpack onto the floor.
"I hate him."
Mason was sitting at the kitchen table repairing a loose chair leg.
"What happened?"
"He said I don't have a real dad."
Mason stopped working.
Hannah looked up from the counter.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing."
Caleb kicked the backpack.
"He's stupid."
Mason placed the screwdriver down.
"Come sit."
Caleb reluctantly approached.
Mason pulled out a chair.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
Caleb explained.
His friend had heard that Daniel was dead and that Mason was his biological uncle. The boy had asked whether Caleb's family was strange.
Caleb had become angry.
Then his friend had said that having an uncle around did not mean he had a father.
Mason listened.
When Caleb finished, he looked down.
"I wish Dad was here."
Mason nodded.
"Me too."
"Why did he have to die?"
Mason took a breath.
"I don't know."
"Why couldn't somebody fix him?"
Mason felt the familiar ache.
"Sometimes doctors can't fix everything."
Caleb wiped his face.
"I don't want people saying I don't have a real dad."
Mason leaned forward.
"Your dad is real."
Caleb looked up.
"He isn't here."
"No. But that doesn't make him less real."
Mason reached for Daniel's photograph.
He kept a copy in his wallet.
He placed it on the table.
"Look at him."
Caleb studied the picture.
"That's Dad."
"Yes."
"He was younger."
"Much younger."
Mason smiled.
"Your father was stubborn. He was funny. He was a terrible singer. He loved his family. He made mistakes. He got angry sometimes. He worried about everything."
Caleb smiled faintly.
"Mom says that."
"Your mother is usually right."
From the counter, Hannah said, "Usually?"
Mason ignored her.
"Your father was real because he lived. He loved. He made choices. He changed people."
Caleb looked at the photograph.
"And because you remember him?"
"Yes."
"And because Mom remembers him?"
"Yes."
"And because Mia remembers him?"
"Yes."
Mason nodded.
"And because you carry parts of him with you."
Caleb was quiet.
Then he asked, "What parts?"
Mason smiled.
"Your stubbornness."
Caleb laughed.
"That's not good."
"It can be good. It depends what you do with it."
Mason leaned back.
"You can be angry when people say things that hurt. But don't let them decide what your family means."
Caleb looked at the photograph again.
"Okay."
Mason picked up the screwdriver.
"Now, would you like to help me fix this chair?"
Caleb nodded.
They spent the next twenty minutes tightening the legs.