Brent had been waiting for this day for what felt like forever. The day he could finally fight to bring his little brother, Sean, home.
Aged out of the foster care system at eighteen, Brent was finally on his own. But freedom didn’t feel like freedom—not when Sean was still stuck in the system, bouncing between foster homes. Brent had spent years protecting him, looking out for him when no one else would. He wasn’t about to stop now.
But the battle ahead was harder than he had ever imagined.
The family courtroom was dim, like the walls had absorbed years of sorrow and desperation. Brent sat stiffly, his fists clenched in his lap. He forced himself to breathe, slowly, one finger at a time, unclenching.
Today was supposed to be his first step toward getting custody of Sean.
Fran, Sean’s caseworker, took the seat beside him. She had that same unreadable expression—professional concern mixed with just enough sympathy to remind him she was human. But not enough to actually help.
“You heard the judge,” Fran said, her voice even. “You’re doing everything right, Brent. But you’re not there yet.”
The words hit like a slap.
Yeah, he had heard the judge: not enough income. Not enough space. Not enough experience. Just… not enough.
“What does that even mean?” His voice cracked. “I’ve been working double shifts. I’m studying. I’ve done everything you told me to.”
“I know.” She glanced away, avoiding his gaze. “The state has guidelines. You’re making progress, but—”
Brent stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
“But it’s not enough,” he snapped. “Yeah, I got that part.”
He stormed out of the courthouse, barely holding himself together. The cold autumn air hit him like a slap, but he barely noticed.
Not enough?
He’d been enough when their mother was too strung out on heartbreak to get out of bed.
He’d been enough when he made Sean’s sandwiches, helped him with his homework, and made sure he brushed his teeth every morning.
Back at his tiny basement apartment, he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch. He had been working at a warehouse and studying for his GED, but his income was barely above the requirement. His apartment was too small. He needed a second bedroom for Sean, and there was no way he could afford anything bigger.
A knock at the door startled him.
Mrs. Ruiz, his landlady, stood there with a plate of cookies and a knowing look in her eyes.
“How did it go?” she asked, stepping inside.
Brent sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fran’s making me prove I can support him. Like I wouldn’t give up food for him if I had to.”
Mrs. Ruiz sighed. “Loving someone and proving it to the state are two different things, mijo.”
“I know that,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “But I don’t know what to do. The apartment’s too small. And I can’t afford anything bigger right now.”
Mrs. Ruiz was quiet for a moment, then she said, “If you fix up the old room upstairs, it’s yours for the same rent. Just don’t burn my house down.”
Brent blinked. “What?”
She shrugged. “It’s been empty since my daughter moved out. Needs work, but it’s a real bedroom with a window. The rent stays the same.”
A flicker of hope ignited in Brent’s chest. He had a shot.
He threw himself into fixing up the room. He painted the walls blue because Sean had once said blue felt like home. He found secondhand shelves, baseball posters, a sturdy old desk. He wanted it to feel like a real bedroom, not just a place to sleep.
Two days later, Fran showed up for a surprise home visit.
Brent already knew it wasn’t going great. The place wasn’t dirty, but it was obvious he’d been too busy working to do much else. Laundry piled in the corner. Empty pizza box on the counter.
Fran raised an eyebrow, writing something on her clipboard.
“Raising a child isn’t just about love, Brent,” she said. “It’s about providing stability.”
Brent clenched his jaw. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re trying,” she said. “But trying and succeeding are different things.”
Brent wanted to tell her about all the nights he had gotten Sean to bed. How he had held him close and promised things would be okay even when he didn’t believe it himself.
Instead, he just nodded. “I’ll do better.”
Fran’s gaze softened. “Show me.”
So he did.
He fixed the upstairs room. He set a cleaning schedule. He practiced cooking real meals instead of ordering takeout. By the time Fran did her final home visit, the apartment was tidy, the fridge was stocked, and he greeted her in a button-down instead of a wrinkled hoodie.
She walked through the apartment, inspecting every detail. When she stepped into Sean’s room, she ran her fingers over the desk, checked the closet, and looked out the window.
“He likes space,” Brent said, his voice quiet. “The rocket posters, I mean. And baseball. I got tickets for a game next month, if… you know. If things work out.”
Fran looked at him, and for the first time, she smiled.
“You’ve done good work here, Brent.”
The night before the final hearing, Sean’s foster mom, Mrs. Bailey, called.
“We wrote a letter for the judge,” she said. “But we want to testify in person, too.”
Brent swallowed hard. “Why would you do that for me?”
“Because going to live with his big brother is all Sean talks about. We love Sean, Brent. But loving someone means doing what’s best for them.”
Brent barely managed a whisper. “Thank you.”
The courtroom was as dim as before, but this time, it felt different. Sean sat beside his foster parents, fidgeting in too-new clothes. He waved when he saw Brent.
The judge called the hearing to order. Sean’s foster parents spoke first.
“We’ve fostered twelve children, your honor,” Mrs. Bailey said. “We’ve never seen a bond like theirs.”
Then Fran stood up.
“I had concerns about Brent,” she admitted. “But statistics don’t raise children. People do. And Brent has proven, over and over again, that love isn’t just a feeling. It’s action.”
She turned to the judge.
“I support his petition for custody.”
Brent’s heart pounded. Then it was his turn.
“Your honor,” he said, voice shaking. “I know I’m young. I know I don’t have much. But I’ve been taking care of Sean his whole life. Not because I had to, but because he’s my brother.”
The judge was silent for a long moment. Then she looked up.
“I believe the best place for Sean is with his brother.”
Sean gasped, then launched himself into Brent’s arms.
“Told you,” he whispered. “You’re not too young. You’re Brent. You can do anything.”
Brent held him tight, his eyes burning.
As they walked out into the sunlight, Sean looked up at him. “Can we get pizza to celebrate?”
Brent laughed. “Yeah, buddy. We can get pizza.”
And for the first time in years, he felt like he could breathe.