Brent finally aged out of foster care, but his little brother, Sean, was still stuck in the system. Brent had made a promise—he would take care of Sean, no matter what. But promises weren’t enough in a courtroom where rules, regulations, and cold facts held more weight than love.
The family courtroom was dim, like the lighting matched the heavy decisions made inside. Brent sat at the long table, his hands balled into fists before he forced them open, one finger at a time. He had to stay calm.
Today was the day—the first step toward getting custody of Sean.
He had been waiting for this moment ever since he turned eighteen and aged out of the system himself. But now, sitting in front of the judge, Brent realized just how much was stacked against him.
Fran, Sean’s caseworker, settled into the chair beside him. She had the same look she always wore—professional concern, a touch of sympathy, but never enough to bend the rules in his favor.
“You heard the judge,” she said in that careful, even voice of hers. “You’re doing everything right, Brent. But you’re not there yet.”
The words landed like a punch to the gut.
Yeah, he had heard the judge. Not enough income. Not enough space. Not enough experience. Just… not enough.
“What does that even mean?” he demanded, his voice shaking. “I’ve been working double shifts. I’m taking classes. I’ve done everything you told me to do.”
Fran sighed. “I know. But the state has guidelines. You’re making progress, but—”
“But it’s not enough,” Brent snapped, shoving his chair back as he stood. The screech echoed in the quiet room. “Yeah, I got that part.”
He stormed out before he could say something that would make things worse.
Outside, the crisp fall air stung his face. He took a deep breath, watching his breath curl into the sky before vanishing—just like his mother, just like everything they had before.
Brent had been enough when their mom was too lost in heartbreak to get out of bed. Enough when he made Sean’s lunches, helped him with homework, and made sure he brushed his teeth.
But now, in the eyes of the court, he wasn’t enough.
Back at his tiny basement apartment, Brent kicked off his shoes and sank onto the couch. It wasn’t much, but it was his. He had a job at a warehouse and was studying for his GED, but the judge said his income was barely above the requirement. And his apartment? Too small. The state said Sean needed his own bedroom.
The doorbell rang. Mrs. Ruiz, his landlady, stood there holding a plate of cookies.
“How did it go?” she asked as she stepped inside.
Brent took the plate and set it on the table. “Fran says I need a bigger place. I can’t afford one.”
Mrs. Ruiz studied him for a long moment. Then she nodded to herself. “If you fix up the empty room upstairs, it’s yours. Same rent.”
Brent blinked. “What?”
“It’s been empty since my daughter moved out. Needs work, but it’s a real bedroom with a window.” She shrugged like it was nothing. “Rent stays the same.”
Hope lit up inside him. A real shot.
Fran showed up for a surprise home visit two days later. Brent already knew it wasn’t going well. The place wasn’t dirty, but it was clear he had been too busy working extra shifts to tidy up. Laundry piled up. An empty pizza box sat on the counter.
Fran’s eyebrows lifted as she wrote on her clipboard. “Raising a child isn’t just about love, Brent. It’s about structure and stability.”
“I know that,” Brent said, jaw tight. “You think I don’t know that?”
“I think you’re trying,” she said, voice softer now. “But trying and succeeding are different things.”
After she left, Brent stood in the middle of his apartment and took a long look around. It wasn’t a home. It was a place to sleep in between shifts. That wasn’t enough—not for Sean.
He called the handyman Mrs. Ruiz had recommended and got to work.
Three weeks. That’s all the time he had to prove he could do this.
The upstairs room came together slowly. Brent worked late shifts and spent the early mornings scraping paint, fixing leaks, and making it livable. He bought secondhand shelves, found baseball posters, and a sturdy desk for Sean’s homework. One wall was painted blue—Sean’s favorite color.
And Brent didn’t stop there. He fixed his own habits too. He set alarms, practiced cooking real meals, stuck to a cleaning schedule.
By the time Fran came for another visit, the apartment was clean, the fridge was stocked, and Brent greeted her wearing a button-down instead of a wrinkled hoodie.
She took one look at the apartment and raised an eyebrow. “Well. This is different.”
“Good different?” Brent asked.
She smiled—just a little. “Let’s see the room.”
Upstairs, Sean’s room was ready. Not perfect, but real. Fran ran her fingers along the desk, checked the closet, and looked out the window.
“He likes space,” Brent said. “That’s why I got the rocket posters. And baseball. I got tickets for a game next month.”
Fran closed her notebook. “You’ve done good work here, Brent.”
“But is it enough?” he asked.
“That’s for the judge to decide,” she said. “But you’ve given me something to work with now.”
Court day.
The judge listened as Sean’s foster parents spoke first.
Mrs. Bailey’s voice was firm but kind. “Sean is a wonderful boy, and we love having him. But Brent isn’t just his brother. He’s been a father to him for years.”
Mr. Bailey nodded. “We’ve fostered a lot of kids. We’ve never seen a bond like theirs.”
Then Fran spoke.
“At first, I had concerns,” she admitted. “Brent is young. He’s untested. And statistically, young single men don’t succeed as primary guardians.”
Brent braced himself for the rejection.
But then she looked at him and smiled.
“But statistics don’t raise children. People do. And Brent has proven that love isn’t just a feeling—it’s action.”
She turned to the judge. “I support his petition for custody.”
Brent’s breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to stay steady as he stood to speak.
“Your honor, I know I’m young. I know I don’t have much. But I’ve been raising Sean his whole life. Not because I had to, but because he’s my brother. My family.”
He looked over at Sean, who was watching him with wide eyes.
“I can give him a home,” Brent said. “Not just a place to stay. A real home.”
The judge was silent for a long moment. Then she nodded.
“I believe the best place for Sean is with his brother.”
Sean gasped. Brent barely registered the words before Sean shot from his seat and into his arms.
“Told you,” Sean whispered. “You’re not too young. You’re Brent. You can do anything.”
Brent squeezed his eyes shut and held on tight. For the first time in years, he could finally breathe.
