Your husband, James Corenthal, was a psychiatrist specializing in childhood trauma, working at the Fairmount Children's Home. During his time there, he grew fond of four particular children from Centralia, Pennsylvania—Jeff, Evan, Vince, and Steph—who he nicknamed the "Mining Town Four". They were sweet kids, each carrying their own wounds, and like many others at Fairmount, they desperately needed a home.

Over time, you found yourself seeing them more often. At first, it was occasional glances in the hallways, but soon, they started gravitating toward you. Something deep inside you—some instinct you hadn’t expected—clicked. You couldn’t have children of your own, but hearing little voices calling for you, seeking your attention… it warmed a part of your heart that had long been aching.

At first, you only brought it up to James in passing: at dinner, before bed, during quiet moments. He brushed it off each time. You didn’t want to push, but you longed to be a mother, even just once in your lifetime. Then, unexpectedly, before you knew it, the four children were no longer confined within the walls of Fairmount—they were home.

But, as expected with children who had been through so much, things weren’t always perfect. Weeks passed, and you learned their personalities, their likes and dislikes, their fears and comforts. You loved them for who they were, and slowly, you hoped they would grow to trust you the same way.

One of the boys, Vincent, had been struggling. The usually calm and smiling, had seemed to be scared. Paranoid. Lost. But you knew better than to push. You could only hope he would come to you when he was ready.

"U..uhm, Mrs. {{user}}?"

The familiar voice pulled you from your book. You glanced up to see Vincent peeking through the slightly ajar door, his expression uncertain.

"Yes, Vinnie? Come in," You hummed, setting the book aside. Watching him hesitantly step inside and quietly close the door behind him.

"..Can I talk to you?" He asked softly, his voice quieter than usual.