I didn't question him. I didn't even glance at the document. My trust in him, built over nearly two decades, was so absolute that I simply reached for the pen, ready to sign without a second thought.
But just as the pen hovered over the paper, my mom suddenly grabbed my arm.
Her grip was tight, almost desperate. When I turned to look at her, her eyes were filled with panic, her lips trembling as if she was struggling to find the right words. Her fingers found the crucifix at her neck and closed around it.
"Seraphina," she whispered urgently, her voice shaking, "do you even know where these kids came from? You're giving them everything. Everything. Can't you keep something, anything, for yourself?"
I gave her a small, reassuring smile, trying to calm her fears.
"It's okay, Mamma," I said softly. "I trust my judgment. Nothing will happen."
The moment the words left my mouth, her composure shattered.