On the night when our parents passed away, we lost not only our family, but lost everything. However, in that darkness, with nothing remaining to hang on to, my siblings and I made a promise. A vow that would require years of sacrifice, grief and a single-hearted determination to accomplish.
Our world was ripped apart in one night when I was only five. One second, we had a home, a café scenting with fresh bread, and our parents’ laughter filling the kitchen. The next, we had nothing. No goodbyes, no last hugs. A knock on the door and strangers saying our parents were gone.
I didn’t understand. My sister seven years old, Emma, had her hand pressed to mine, shaking. My nine-year-old brother Liam was frozen, pale, unreadable. They took us to the orphanage, and I could only ask the same question again. When does Mom and Dad return? No one answered.
The café was sold in weeks. The house was taken too by debts we never even heard of. It was as if our parents had been wiped off the face of the earth.
One night, when the orphanage was humming with soft murmurs of other children, Liam whispered to us, “We’re all we have now.” I’ll take care of you. I promise.” And he did.
He ate little for Emma and me to eat more. He kept every little penny in his small allowance, getting us small treats – sweets and fruit – even though he never took anything for himself. When bullies would try to bother me, Liam was there. He held her when she cried herself to sleep.
After one of the toughest days, Liam called us into our small room. His face was grim, his voice was measured. Mom and Dad had a dream. We are going to make it happen. That café – they wanted it to stand for something. I know we’re just kids… but one day, we’ll get it back.
I didn’t know how. But I believed him.
Losing Emma the day she left the orphanage was the same as losing our parents all over again. I can recall grabbing her sweater, pleading her not to move. She kneeled down, both her hands on my face, her smile though fake. She promised to visit every week, “I’ll visit every week”. “I’ll bring you something sweet.”
I didn’t want candy. I only wanted her not to go.
Liam stood next to me with clenched fists. He didn’t cry, he never did, but I could see his pain in his quiet. That night, her bed, which was empty, was more icy than it had ever been before.
To her word, Emma returned almost every week. Her foster parents would allow her to visit and she would bring gifts, chocolates, stories, and plenty of warmth. “It’s not bad,” she’d say, giving me a stuffed bear. “The food’s better than here.”
Liam remained quiet, afraid of the system. Then, it was my turn. I placed my few possessions in a bag and hugged the bear which Emma gave me. “I don’t want to go,” I said in a whisper.
Liam got down on his knees and his eyes were studying mine. “You’re not leaving us. We made a promise. Regardless, we got each other’s backs”.
My foster family was nice, and they lived not far away from us, so I kept seeing my siblings frequently. However, without Liam nothing seemed right. The next year, he went too. We had made a pact: we would only take placements if we could be near. And somehow, the system listened.
We resisted separating even with different houses. We went to parks, we spent our weekends with each other, we hung on to the connection we built in sorrow.
One evening, we were sitting on a park bench, Liam stared at the sunset. “We’re getting it back, he said.
Emma furrowed her brow. “Getting what back?”
He looked at us and his voice was firm. “Mom and Dad’s café.”
Liam started working instantly when he turned sixteen. Grocery store stock boy, gas station night shifts – not glamorous at all, but not one complaint from him. “It’s just the beginning,” he would say, falling onto the couch in Emma’s foster home.
When Emma was seventeen, she joined him, waitressing at a minuscule diner. One night, she sighed, “You should’ve seen this guy today,” throwing her apron away. “Snapping his fingers at me as if I were a dog”.
Liam smirked. Did you spit in his drink?
Emma threw a napkin at him. “Tempted.”
I observed them from the sideline, too young to do anything but I kept the dream.
We did not go our different ways when we turned eighteen and aged out of the system. We combined our savings to hire a tiny one-room apartment. Liam demanded the use of the couch. “We’re together again,” Emma said. “Like a real family.”
We worked like hell. Liam took on two jobs. Emma picked up doubles. I joined them when I was old enough. Each penny we earned was saved. No vacations, no luxuries – just a quiet and persistent march in one direction.
One night, we all had our cash laid out at the kitchen table, we were all at the table counting, Liam leaned back, a small grin on his face. “We’re close,” he said.
Emma raised a brow. “To what?”
He looked at us, the same fire on his voice from this orphanage room long ago. “To buying back the café.”
The day we signed on the papers, I swear, you could feel our parents with us. The building had seen more than a few changes of owner, and it was literally collapsing when we got it back—fractured floors, peeling walls, rotting equipment. To us, however, it was home.
We scraped every nook and crannied, painted every wall, replaced what we could. Gradually, the place saw new life — not just as a commercial establishment, but as a memory that is reborn.
People noticed. Locals came back as a result of the warmth, nostalgia, and silent pride in every dish we prepared. We weren’t just reopening a café – we were bringing back the dream of our parents.
And then, at the age of thirty-four, we did the unthinkable. We bought back the house.
The house where we last got to hear mom laugh. Where Dad used to sing in the kitchen. Where we used to be a family. I stood outside the door with the keys in hands, trembling hands.
“Do it together,” Liam said.
The three of us put our hands on the knob. We turned it as one.
The second we entered the door already, the memories drowned us – the smell of bread, the rush of feet, the ghosts of an abbreviated life.
Emma wiped her tears. “They should be here.”
“They are,” Liam whispered.
Today we all live in our own homes, our own lives to lead. But, each weekend without fail, we all come together at the house — for a family dinner, for laughter, but for the unbreakable bond.
And every time, as we sit down to eat, Liam lifts his glass, just as our father used to do.
Only in unity, a family can overcome any problems and obstacles,” he says looking at us with quiet pride. “And we did. We kept our promise. Mom and Dad would be proud”.
