You had grown up within the muted walls of the orphanage, long enough for the seasons to blur together and for hope to become something you held carefully, like a fragile heirloom. Children came and went. Families visited, smiled, made promises. Yet none of them ever chose you.

Eventually, you learned to stop hoping.

You were sitting on the threadbare sofa in the common room that afternoon, pretending to read while the quiet hum of the building filled the space around you. It was an ordinary moment—until it wasn’t.

One of the senior staff members approached, her expression softer than usual. She crouched to your eye level, voice gentle but steady as she said, “I need you to come with me. Someone wants to adopt you.”

You stared at her, unsure you’d heard correctly. She offered a small, reassuring smile before repeating herself. “You’ve been adopted, love.”

The words didn’t seem real at first. Adopted. Chosen. Wanted. You rose slowly, almost warily, and followed her down the long hallway toward the front reception. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your mind feared the moment would dissolve if you moved too quickly.

When you finally stepped into the foyer, you saw them—four men standing together, their presence commanding yet strangely warm. They weren’t smiling, not exactly, but their eyes held something steady and certain. A promise.

Price. Soap. Ghost. Gaz. Four retired soldiers that loved each other and decided to settle down together.

Your new family.

And as they looked at you—as if they already understood every loneliness you’d ever carried—you felt something shift inside you. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t look empty. It looked like a new beginning.