Of course! Here’s a slightly shorter version that still keeps the emotional arc intact:
The accident happened on a Thursday—pizza night. We’d just parked when the call came. My son Micah froze on the porch. Zayden’s parents were gone. No warning. Just… gone.
At the hospital, Zayden clutched a teddy bear. When Micah walked in, he ran straight into his arms. “He can live with us,” Micah said.
But the system had rules. Zayden went to foster care. Micah cried for weeks, not knowing we were working nonstop—training, paperwork, interviews—hoping we could bring him home.
Months later, we called Micah outside. Zayden stood in the driveway, backpack on, bear in hand. Micah ran to him. “You’re staying?” he asked. “For good,” I said.
Things were great—until the trauma showed. Zayden had night terrors, hated loud noises, hid in closets. Micah became his shadow. His protector. “It’s okay to just be a kid,” I told him. He said, “I made a promise—to God.”
We started therapy. Zayden opened up. Micah admitted he missed how things were before. Slowly, they began to heal.
Then came a call—from Helena, Zayden’s aunt. She wanted to meet him. Micah was scared. “Will she take him?” he asked.
Helena was kind. She brought old photos and stories. Zayden was cautious but curious. In the end, he chose to stay with us—and visit her on breaks. Helena became part of our lives too.
Years passed. The nightmares stopped. One day, Zayden handed Micah his teddy bear. “I’m okay now,” he said. “You can let go.”
Now they’re in high school—still best friends, still brothers. And Micah? He kept his promise.
Sometimes, love really is that simple—and that strong.
