“We did everything we could, but your father has gone to a better place.” The words hung in the air like an inescapable sentence. Laya, Isabel, and Iris remained motionless for a few seconds as if they didn’t fully grasp the meaning of what they had just heard. It was Isabel, the observer, who first processed the terrible truth, her eyes widening with understanding before filling with tears. Soon, all three broke down in simultaneous sobs, as if they shared not only an identical appearance but also the grief that now pierced them.
They hugged each other tightly, forming a small circle of mutual protection against the cruelty of the world that had just taken away the only person they had. He can’t be gone. He promised he would stay with us, Iris said, the most sensitive of the three, her body trembling with the intensity of her sobs. He said we had to stay together, but he should be with us too. The doctor placed a comforting hand on Laya’s shoulder, who, among the three of them, was trying to hold back her own tears to comfort her sisters.
He could see the determination growing in the girl’s eyes, even through the tears, the precocious resolve of someone who needs to grow up too fast. It was a look he had seen many times before in children who lost their parents at that exact moment when childhood began to be stolen. He wanted to say something that could ease that pain, but he knew words were insufficient in the face of such a profound loss. You were the joy of her life until the very last moment.
The doctor tried to comfort them, his own voice choked with emotion. He spoke of them until the very end, urging them to be strong and stay together. Before the girls could fully process the news or the doctor could offer any further comfort, a woman with a purposeful stride and impassive expression approached from the hallway. She wore a somber gray suit and carried a folder full of documents. Her heels clicked rhythmically against the linoleum floor, each step echoing like the ticking of a clock marking the end of one era and the beginning of another.
Her hair was stiffly pulled back in a tight bun, and thin-framed glasses framed eyes that seemed to calculate more than feel. “Can I speak with the girls now?” the social worker asked with a professional detachment that contrasted painfully with the atmosphere of mourning. “We have urgent procedures to follow.” The doctor hesitated, his eyes shifting from the girls to the newcomer. It was clear he considered the moment inappropriate, that he wished to give the triplets more time to grasp the magnitude of their loss before they were forced to confront the practical consequences of being orphaned, but he also knew he had no authority to intervene in that process.
With a resigned sigh, he nodded and walked away, but not before casting one last compassionate glance at the girls. “Shan, strong for each other,” he murmured softly. Words only the triplets could hear. It’s what their father would want. The social worker didn’t wait for the doctor to leave completely before taking charge. With mechanical efficiency, she led the three girls to a small, empty waiting room at the end of the corridor.
It was a sterile, impersonal environment, with uncomfortable plastic chairs and faded beige walls, illuminated by intermittent, whirring fluorescent lights. There was no effort to make the space welcoming for girls who had just suffered a traumatic loss, just a bureaucratic functionality that reflected the social worker’s own approach. “I’m sorry about your father,” she said, opening her folder on the table and arranging various forms into neat stacks. “We need to figure out where you’ll go now.”
“Don’t they have any other relatives?” Laya asked, sitting between her sisters and holding both their hands tightly. She shook her head. Her eyes, swollen from crying, watched the social worker’s every move with instinctive distrust. Isabel, beside her, analyzed the documents on the table, her analytical mind working even amidst the pain, trying to decipher what those papers would mean for their future. Iris, on the other side, continued to cry silently, her gaze lost as if she were still searching for her father in the void.
“He always said there were only four of us in the world,” Laya replied, her voice small but firm. “He said we were enough for each other.” The social worker made a few notes on a form without showing any emotional reaction to the girl’s answer. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical, as if she were dealing with statistics and not three shattered lives. The silence in the room was broken only by the whirring of the lamp and the occasional stifled sob from Iris.
For a moment, the only sound was the scratching of a pencil on paper, clinically documenting the tragedy of these girls. As I suspected, the social worker finally spoke without looking up from her papers. “Unfortunately, we can’t keep all three of you together. There isn’t an institution with space for three girls of the same age. Each of you will go to a different shelter.” The words landed like a second devastating blow. If Father’s death had been like losing the ground beneath their feet, this new revelation was like discovering they couldn’t even fall together.
Shock flashed simultaneously across the three identical faces. The girls squeezed each other’s hands tighter, as if physical contact could prevent the imminent separation. Silent tears streamed down Laya and Isabel’s faces, while Iris let out small, broken sobs. “You can’t do that.” Isabel found her voice, usually the calmest of the three, now trembling with emotion. “We promised our father we’d stay together. It was the last thing he asked of us.” The social worker finally looked up from her papers, adjusting her glasses with a mechanical gesture.
Her gaze held no active cruelty, only a professional indifference cultivated over years of dealing with similar tragedies. To her, the triplets were just another case, three more numbers in an overburdened system that had no room for sentimental considerations or promises made to a dying man. “I understand it’s difficult, but that’s how the system works,” she explained, her tone didactic and devoid of empathy. “We have protocols to follow and limited resources. Perhaps they can be reunited in the future if a family comes along interested in adopting all three.”
Laya felt a rising rage replacing some of the pain. Her free hand instinctively reached for the fragment of the medallion her father had given her, clutching it so tightly that its jagged edges marked her palm. Ivan’s words echoed in her mind with crystal clarity. Promise that you will never be apart. No matter what happens. She looked at her sisters and saw the same thought reflected in their eyes. In that moment, without needing to speak, the three of them made an irrevocable decision.
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