The year was 1979, and Richard Miller’s life had narrowed to silence. His wife, Anne, had been gone for two years, and the house they once dreamed of filling with children was still and hollow.
At 34, Richard spent most evenings at his kitchen table, staring at the same cracked wallpaper, listening to a clock that seemed to mock him with every tick. People in town said he should remarry, move on, start over. But Richard didn’t want to start over. He wanted to keep a promise Anne once whispered as she lay in a hospital bed, frail and fading:
“Don’t let love die with me. Give it somewhere to go.”
That promise led him, one rain-soaked evening, to St. Mary’s Orphanage on the edge of the city. He hadn’t planned on stopping there—his truck had simply broken down nearby. But when he stepped inside, seeking a phone, the muffled sound of babies crying drew him down a dim corridor. In one small room, cribs were crammed together in….Read Full Story Here………………….
