Mister, I Miss My Sisters’ — The Words That Changed One Foster Dad’s Life Forever

A powerful true story of a foster dad who refused to let siblings be separated. Read how one moment, one promise, and one fight reunited five children under the same roof forever.

Mister, I miss my sisters,” my youngest said that first night. My name’s Marcus, and I grew up in foster care. I still remember the night they split me from my little brother, Aaron. That sound of him crying through the wall never left me. I promised myself that if I ever got the chance, no kid would go through that again. Years later, I became a foster parent.

The first children who came were three brothers—Jayden, Malik, and Noah. They were polite, quiet, and scared to unpack. Then I found out they had two sisters, Ava and Chloe, living in different homes across town. That same night, Jayden looked up and said those words: “Mister, I miss my sisters.” I started calling everyone I could—social workers, agencies, judges. I begged until all five kids could live under one roof.

The day they walked through my door together, the house finally sounded like home. When the adoption became official, all five stood beside me in court.
I looked at them, and I told them, “You’ll never be apart again.”

The Night Everything Changed

The day after the adoption, I thought life would finally slow down. But I was wrong—in the best possible way.

That first morning, I woke up to something I never had in my own childhood:
the sound of siblings laughing together in the kitchen.

Noah was standing on a chair trying to pour cereal. Ava was braiding Chloe’s hair. Jayden and Malik were arguing—playfully—about who was faster. The house felt alive in a way I never imagined.

But the moment that nearly brought me to my knees came after breakfast.

Ava tugged my sleeve and whispered:

“Mister… do we call you Dad now?”

I didn’t know what to say. I had prepared for paperwork, court hearings, home inspections—not that question. I swallowed hard and asked her:

“What do you want to call me?”

She looked at her brothers, then at Chloe, and then she smiled shyly.
“We want a dad.”

That was the moment I realized something huge:

I didn’t just save five kids from being separated.
They saved me from the loneliness I grew up with.

A Home Built From Promises

The weeks after the adoption were messy and beautiful all at once.

The boys turned the backyard into a soccer field.
The girls decorated their room with butterflies and glow-in-the-dark stars.
We created a rule called “Nobody eats alone.”

The first family tradition we ever started was “Friday Night Together.”
No phones. No TV.
Just us—talking, playing games, being a family.

One Friday, Noah said something I’ll never forget:

“It’s loud in here… but the good kind of loud.”

That hit me hard.
Because I remembered the silence of the foster homes I grew up in.
The kind of silence that feels like an echo of being unwanted.

But this?
This was the sound of healing.

The Moment We Became a Real Family

Three months after the adoption, their caseworker stopped by for a check-in visit. She asked each child privately how things were going.

Jayden—the oldest—said something that made her cry:

“For the first time, I don’t feel like I’m visiting someone else’s life.
This is my home.”

Later that night, the kids surprised me with a hand-drawn card.
On the front it said:

“Thank you for choosing us.”

Inside, all of them signed their names…
and under each name, they had written:

“Family, always.”

I had spent my entire childhood wishing for someone to say those words to me.
Now I was the one hearing them.

Why This Story Matters

Every year, thousands of siblings enter foster care—
and over 60% of them are separated.

Some never see each other again.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

Sometimes all it takes is one person who refuses to give up.

One person who remembers what it’s like to lose family.
One person who decides that “not on my watch” is enough to change five lives.

I became a foster parent because I didn’t want kids to feel the pain I once felt.
And those five kids?
They taught me what family truly means.

Final Message

If you’re reading this, I want you to remember:

Family isn’t always blood.
Sometimes it’s a choice—
the most powerful choice a person can make.

And five children now fall asleep every night under one roof because one man made a promise long ago:

“No child I meet will ever be separated from their family again.”