What does it mean to be fourteen? For most, it’s sitting in classrooms, memorizing equations, or wondering if a text will ever come through from a friend. For Shariya Small, it meant something else entirely delivering three premature babies, each weighing less than two pounds, and spending months in a neonatal intensive care unit. Fewer than 150 sets of triplets are born in the United States each year, and their care requires the full strength of modern medicine. Yet Shariya faced it not as a mother in her thirties with resources and support, but as an eighth grader, largely alone.
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The odds were stacked against her. Premature births carry risks of respiratory complications, developmental delays, and even survival itself. But the greater danger was the silence that surrounded her: no family members at her side, no hand to steady her when the alarms of the NICU monitors pierced the air. Alone, she watched machines breathe for her newborns, waiting hour after hour without anyone to lean on.
In that quiet struggle, one nurse noticed what others overlooked. Katrina Mullen, a seasoned NICU nurse who knew firsthand the weight of being a teen mother, saw a young girl fighting to care for three fragile lives while barely beginning her own. What began as small acts of kindness would grow into something larger than either of them could have predicted an act of compassion that would bind them together as family.
A Childhood Interrupted
At an age when most teenagers are figuring out how to navigate algebra, social circles, and after-school hobbies, Shariya Small was thrust into a world defined by survival. In 2020, still in middle school, she went into labor just six months into her pregnancy. The outcome was as rare as it was daunting: triplets born at only 26 weeks, each weighing less than two pounds.
Triplet pregnancies are already extraordinary statistics show that fewer than 150 sets are born in the United States each year. Add to that the complications of extreme prematurity, and the odds grow more formidable. According to the March of Dimes, babies born before 28 weeks face some of the greatest risks in neonatal medicine: breathing difficulties due to underdeveloped lungs, feeding complications, and a heightened likelihood of long-term developmental delays. For Shariya, this meant five long months of watching her infants Serenitee, Samari, and Sarayah struggle for stability in incubators, their lives tethered to machines that provided what their tiny bodies could not.
The physical demand of such a pregnancy would overwhelm many adults. For a 14-year-old, it was almost unimaginable. Her own body was still developing, yet she was called to nurture not just one, but three fragile lives. And she was doing it without the safety net most new mothers rely on. Day after day, Shariya sat alone in the neonatal intensive care unit at Community Hospital North in Indianapolis. Nurses noticed she often went without food, without company, without anyone who could reassure her that she wasn’t carrying this burden entirely by herself.
What stood out amid the fluorescent lights and constant alarms was her devotion. Despite the isolation, she rarely left her babies’ side. Her presence wasn’t just a sign of love it was an act of endurance, a young girl refusing to turn away from responsibility that had arrived far earlier than anyone should expect. It was here, in this quiet determination, that her story caught the attention of one nurse who understood more than most what it meant to be young, afraid, and suddenly a mother.
Life Inside the NICU
The neonatal intensive care unit, or NICU, is both a sanctuary and a battlefield. For premature infants, it offers the technology and expertise that can mean the difference between life and death. For parents, it is a place where hope and fear collide daily. Rows of incubators hum under fluorescent lights, their interiors warmed to mimic the womb. Monitors track every heartbeat, every breath. Alarms pierce the air without warning, sometimes signaling a minor shift, sometimes a crisis. It is a world where progress is measured not in milestones but in grams gained, minutes off a ventilator, or days without complication.
For Shariya, this sterile space became her second home. She watched as machines breathed for her triplets, as feeding tubes delivered the nutrients their tiny stomachs couldn’t yet handle. She listened to the steady rhythm of monitors as if they were lullabies, holding vigil through long hours when other parents might have taken turns or leaned on extended family for relief. But Shariya had no one. Nurses noticed she often came without food, without anyone to spell her from the weight of endless waiting. The silence of her seat beside the incubators stood in stark contrast to the communal support that usually surrounds new life.
This isolation was striking to NICU nurse Katrina Mullen. Accustomed to seeing families crowd around tiny patients, she couldn’t ignore the solitary figure of a young girl who returned every day, her devotion unwavering despite her obvious fatigu
e. Mullen understood that medical care, no matter how advanced, could not substitute for the presence of support and guidance. Healing in the NICU is never only about the babies; it is also about strengthening the parent who will take them home.
A Bond Forged in Shared Experience
Trust doesn’t arrive easily in a hospital. For weeks, Shariya kept her guard up, answering questions politely but offering little about her life outside the NICU. The staff saw her devotion to her babies, but the details of her own story remained locked away. Katrina Mullen sensed there was more behind the silence. She had been a nurse long enough to recognize when a patient or in this case, a patient’s mother was carrying a weight too heavy to share.
One day, Mullen decided to speak from her own history. She told Shariya that she too had been a teen mother, giving birth at sixteen and making the painful choice to place her son for adoption. It wasn’t a rehearsed speech or a calculated intervention, but a moment of honesty. The effect was immediate. As Mullen later recalled, something shifted. The teenager who had been so cautious began to open, no longer feeling as though she were the only one who knew what it was like to stumble into adulthood before her time.
From that point, their relationship grew beyond the formal boundaries of nurse and patient’s family. Mullen began teaching Shariya how to care for premature infants how to swaddle, feed through tiny bottles, soothe cries that sounded more like squeaks. These lessons were practical, but the impact went deeper. Each act of guidance carried with it reassurance: you are not alone, and you are capable.
The connection followed them beyond the hospital walls. Before the triplets were discharged, Mullen gave Shariya her phone number, telling her to call anytime she needed to talk, ask a question, or simply not feel so isolated. Calls turned into regular conversations, a lifeline for a young mother navigating overwhelming responsibility. In those exchanges, Shariya discovered that motherhood didn’t have to mean isolation, and Mullen found herself stepping into a role that felt less like obligation and more like calling.
A Harsh Reality Check
When the triplets were finally discharged after more than five months in the NICU, most new parents might have felt relief. For Shariya, stepping outside the hospital meant trading one set of challenges for another. The steady rhythm of medical staff and machines was gone, replaced by the uncertainty of home if it could be called that.
Shariya was staying with a relative in Kokomo, Indiana, in a cramped space that was never meant to house a teen mother and three premature infants. She had no proper bed of her own, often sleeping on a couch, while her babies shared a single playpen. The environment was unstable, with little of the structure or support needed to nurture fragile children who still required careful attention.
The most alarming sign came from baby Samari. He was visibly underweight, struggling to keep food down, and his skin showed patches of eczema. Doctors later diagnosed him with “failure to thrive,” a term that describes an infant’s inability to gain weight or grow at a healthy rate. For medical professionals, this diagnosis is a red flag a sign not only of a child’s immediate health risks but of deeper issues in the caregiving environment.
Katrina Mullen, who had remained in close contact after discharge, decided to visit. The reality she found confirmed her worst fears. “It was not a place for her to raise babies,” she later recalled. The lack of resources, space, and stability made it clear that Shariya and her children were on the brink of crisis.
Child Protective Services soon intervened. Caseworkers concluded that Shariya and her triplets could not safely remain in their current living conditions. For most families in such situations, the foster system would mean separation: infants placed in different homes, the mother relocated elsewhere. For Shariya, who had already endured the shock of early motherhood and months of isolation in the NICU, the prospect of being split from her children was unthinkable.
Opening Her Home
When the social worker called, the choice seemed impossible on paper. A teenage mother and three fragile infants needed placement, but the foster system rarely keeps families together in cases like this. Most homes could not accommodate four people at once, let alone a mother with such complex needs. Separation appeared inevitable. Yet when asked where she wanted to go, Shariya gave a simple answer: she wanted to live with Katrina.
For Mullen, the decision was less about logistics and more about conviction. “I just kept thinking, I have to do this,” she explained later. She knew that finding another foster home for a teen mom and her premature triplets would be nearly impossible. If she didn’t step forward, the babies would almost certainly be split apart, and Shariya would face yet another loss. For a girl already stripped of so much, that outcome was unthinkable.
Opening her home, however, was no small undertaking. Mullen was already a single mother of five, three of whom still lived with her. Adding Shariya and three infants meant her household suddenly expanded to eight children under one roof. Space had to be reorganized. Her living room transformed into a nursery, cribs and high chairs filling corners once meant for comfort. Friends and relatives rallied with donations—clothes, strollers, bassinets helping to soften the overwhelming demands of caring for four new lives.
To make it official, Mullen began the process of becoming a licensed foster parent. Between her nursing shifts and her responsibilities at home, she completed the required classes and met the state’s legal requirements. It was an exhausting, whirlwind process, but the alternative—watching Shariya and her children be torn apart was not something she could accept.
Life inside the house quickly became a balancing act. Mullen juggled her nursing work with the constant cycle of feedings, diaper changes, and the needs of her own children. The noise and chaos were relentless, but beneath it all was purpose. This wasn’t just about providing shelter. It was about preserving a family that might otherwise have been dismantled before it had the chance to take root.
Transformation Over Two Years
At first, Mullen shouldered much of the responsibility. She was the one up during the sleepless nights, tending to three infants whose needs seemed never-ending. But gradually, Shariya grew into her role. With guidance and encouragement, she learned how to soothe all three babies at once, how to recognize their different cries, and how to manage the daily routines that once felt impossible. What began as a teenager overwhelmed by the sheer weight of motherhood evolved into a young woman taking charge of her children with confidence.
Stability in the home also gave Shariya space to care for herself. She returned to school through an alternative high school program something that had once seemed out of reach. Instead of watching her education slip away under the strain of early motherhood, she excelled, graduating with an A- average. College tours followed, as she began to envision a future as a social worker, hoping to offer others the kind of support she had received. Therapy became another tool for growth, helping her process the trauma of her early years and learn healthier ways to cope with the pressures of motherhood.
The transformation wasn’t only in Shariya. Her triplets, once fragile infants born on the edge of viability, began to thrive. Samari overcame his early health struggles, while Serenitee and Sarayah reached milestones that once felt uncertain. Their bond with Katrina grew as well, calling her “LaLa,” the grandmother who helped anchor their world.
After nearly two years 668 days of shared meals, sleepless nights, school runs, and endless lessons in resilience what had begun as a temporary foster arrangement became permanent. In February 2023, Mullen legally adopted Shariya, along with her triplets. The moment formalized what had already become true: they were a family.
Teen Mothers and Systemic Challenges
Shariya’s story is extraordinary, but it also reflects realities faced by many young mothers across the United States. According to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC), teen birth rates have declined significantly over the past two decades, yet thousands of girls under 18 still give birth each year. Many of them face the same challenges Shariya confronted: interrupted education, financial insecurity, stigma, and little to no family support. When combined with the demands of raising premature infants who often require specialized care the barriers to stability can feel insurmountable.
The foster care system complicates this further. Teen mothers who enter the system are at risk not only of losing their own childhood but of being separated from their babies. Most foster families are not equipped or willing to take in both a teen mother and her children, particularly when multiples are involved. This often leads to painful separations, where infants are placed in different homes and mothers are left to navigate adulthood without the anchor of their own family. What makes Katrina Mullen’s choice so remarkable is precisely this context: she did what the system itself struggles to do keep a family together.
There are also broader health implications. Babies born before 28 weeks face some of the steepest odds in medicine. They are at greater risk for chronic lung conditions, neurological complications, and developmental delays. Families without strong support networks often struggle to keep up with frequent medical appointments, therapies, and the everyday costs of specialized care. For a 14-year-old mother without resources, those challenges are magnified.
Shariya’s path underscores the gaps between what is needed and what is available. Programs supporting teen mothers exist, but they are unevenly distributed and often underfunded. Access to mental health care, reliable childcare, and mentorship can make the difference between breaking cycles of hardship and becoming trapped within them. Her transformation was made possible not just by medical intervention in the NICU but by the consistent presence of someone who believed in her potential.
A Story Beyond the NICU
Image Credits: Website @GoFundMe
A GoFundMe campaign that Mullen set up to create a financial cushion for Shariya’s future education and the children’s needs captured this resonance. The initial goal of $20,000 was quickly surpassed, with donations reaching well beyond that amount. Strangers who would never meet Shariya or her triplets contributed because they recognized in her story something universal: the desire for stability, the yearning for family, and the hope that one act of kindness could change the trajectory of lives.
Media outlets highlighted the story, framing it not just as a rare act of generosity but as an example of what happens when empathy takes tangible form. Readers and viewers often remarked that while they might never be in a position to foster or adopt, they were reminded that compassion comes in many forms offering mentorship to a struggling teen, donating to families in crisis, or simply choosing not to look away when someone is sitting alone.
For Shariya and her children, the public response translated into practical stability. It meant not only a roof over their heads but also the possibility of higher education, therapy, and the financial flexibility to build a future. For Mullen, it underscored the idea that her decision, though extraordinary, was part of a broader network of support. Compassion had rippled outward, drawing in people who wanted to contribute to the family’s growth and security.
The Power of One Choice
At its heart, this story is about more than survival, more than even the remarkable choice of one nurse to adopt a teenage mother and her three infants. It is about the way compassion, when acted upon, reshapes reality. Shariya’s life was marked by isolation, instability, and the near-certain prospect of losing her children to the foster system. Katrina Mullen’s decision to step forward did not erase the difficulties there were sleepless nights, financial strain, and the testing boundaries of adolescence but it transformed despair into possibility.
Spiritually, this speaks to a truth echoed across traditions: resilience does not grow in isolation. It is nurtured when one person recognizes another’s humanity and chooses to stand beside them. Love is not simply a feeling it is action, often inconvenient, often demanding, but always transformative. In Katrina’s case, it meant opening her home. For others, it might mean offering mentorship, listening without judgment, or providing support where systems fall short.
The larger lesson is that each of us encounters moments where the choice between comfort and compassion becomes clear. Few will face decisions as weighty as fostering a teenager and her triplets, but the principle remains. To notice, to act, and to love in ways that sustain others that is the essence of what it means to participate in healing the fractures of our world.
For Shariya and her children, one person’s choice changed the course of their lives. For the rest of us, their story is a reminder that the smallest acts of courage can ripple outward, shaping futures in ways we may never fully see. Love in action doesn’t just change individuals it changes the possibilities of what a community, and even a society, can become.
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