At five, my life broke apart. My parents died in a crash. I had their love and our family café. Then, it was all gone.
Strangers came to our house. They called us orphans. I didn’t get it. My sister, Mia, seven, clung to me. My brother, Owen, nine, went quiet.
They took us to an orphanage. I asked when my parents would come back. No one answered. I felt so alone and scared.
Our café was sold. Our house was taken for debts. Everything we knew vanished. We were all we had left.
Owen whispered one night, “I’ll take care of you.” His voice was soft but firm. I trusted him, even so young.
He gave us his food to eat more. He saved his small allowance for treats. He never kept anything for himself.
When kids teased me, Owen stood up. When Mia cried at night, he comforted her. He was our protector.
One night, Owen sat us down. “Mom and Dad loved the café,” he said. “We’ll get it back, I swear.”
I didn’t understand how. I was only five. But Owen’s promise felt real. I nodded, believing in him.
When Mia got a foster family, I sobbed. I held her tight. “Don’t go,” I begged. I couldn’t lose her too.
“I’ll visit,” Mia said, crying. “I’ll bring gifts.” I didn’t want stuff. I wanted my sister to stay with us.
Owen stood nearby, silent. His face was hard, but his eyes showed pain. Mia’s empty bed hurt that night.
Mia came back often. She brought toys, snacks, stories. “My new family’s okay,” she said, giving me a stuffed dog.
Owen didn’t talk much. He didn’t like foster care. He kept watch over us, making sure we were safe.
A year later, I got foster parents. I didn’t want to leave Owen. “We’re still together,” he said. “We promised.”
My foster home was nice. It was close, so I saw Owen and Mia a lot. But without Owen, I felt lost.
Then Owen got a foster family. We’d told social workers we had to stay close. If not, we wouldn’t go.
They listened. We met almost every day. Different houses, same family. Our promise kept us strong.
One afternoon, we sat in a park. Owen spoke. “We’re getting the café back,” he said. Mia frowned. “How?”
Owen’s eyes were fierce. “We’ll work for it,” he said. “For Mom and Dad.” His words gave me purpose.
At 16, Owen worked. He stocked shelves, worked late at a store. He was tired but kept going.
“It’s just the start,” he said at Mia’s foster home. “We’ll have our café.” His hope was contagious.
Mia waitressed at 17. She came home exhausted. “Customers can be rude,” she said, kicking off her shoes.
Owen smirked. “Trip them next time?” Mia laughed, tossing a rag at him. I smiled, feeling like family.
I was too young to work. I felt useless. But I studied, wanting to help keep our parents’ dream alive.
At 18, we left foster care. We rented a small apartment. One room, one couch—Owen slept there.
“We’re back together,” Mia said. The place was tiny, but it was ours. It felt like a real home.
We worked hard. Owen had two jobs. Mia took extra shifts. I worked at a bakery when I was old enough.
We saved every cent. No fun, no extras. Every dollar went to our dream. We were exhausted but focused.
One night, we counted our savings. Owen grinned. “We’re close,” he said. Mia’s eyes lit up. “The café?”
Owen nodded. “Mom and Dad’s dream,” he said. I felt a rush of pride. We were so close.
When we bought the café, I felt them with us. Owen touched the counter. Mia held my hand tightly.
“We made it,” she whispered. Eight years of work—savings, long hours, sacrifice. We’d done it.
The café was old. Floors creaked, walls were dull. We fixed it, pouring love into every detail.
We ran it like Mom and Dad. Customers loved it. They felt the care in every meal we served.
Years later, we bought our old house. The place where we’d been happy, where our parents loved us.
My hands shook outside. “Together,” Owen said. We turned the key as one. Memories flooded back.
Mia cried. “They should be here,” she said. Owen’s voice was soft. “They are,” he said. We felt them.
Now, we have our own families. But every weekend, we eat at that house. It’s our home, always.
Owen raises his glass. “Family conquers all,” he says. “We made Mom and Dad proud.” I know we did.
