Millennial Woman Buys Dream Home, Tears at What She Does Next
Based on facts, either observed and verified firsthand by the reporter, or reported and verified from knowledgeable sources.
Newsweek AI is in beta. Translations may contain inaccuracies—please refer to the original content.
They say the best things in life are free. And while purchasing a home is anything but, for Alexis Johnson, the look on her family's faces was worth more than anything money could buy.
The 31-year-old publicist shared the moment she surprised four generations of her family with a place to call home in Saint Louis, Missouri.
Johnson told Newsweek: "We hadn't had a centralized family home since my great-grandmother passed away when I was young. It was a goal I'd had for years, and it was a life-changing experience."
From left: A 'Welcome home' banner attached to the stairs; and Johnson's mom crying in shock, stood next to her aunt.
From left: A 'Welcome home' banner attached to the stairs; and Johnson's mom crying in shock, stood next to her aunt.
TikTok/@alexis_nikohl
The heartwarming TikTok video of their reactions quickly went viral, gathering 7 million views. It shows the hallway of the empty property with a 'Welcome Home' banner on the stairs, and then Johnson records the moment she greets her family from upstairs.
They scream and shout in excitement, and understandably cry tears of joy.
Multigenerational living has been steadily increasing in the United States since the 1970s. From 1971 to 2021, the number of people living in households with multiple generations quadrupled, rising from 7 to 18 percent of the U.S. population.
Pew Research Center found groups contributing most to recent population growth—such as foreign-born, Asian, Black, and Hispanic Americans—are more likely to live with extended family members.
However, while living under one roof isn't always feasible, that doesn't mean Americans are choosing to live far apart. A separate Pew Research Center survey from May 2022 found that 55 percent of U.S. adults live within an hour's drive of at least some of their extended family. About 28 percent live near all or most of their extended family, while 27 percent live near some. Only 20 percent reported living far from all extended relatives.
These findings suggest that even when not sharing the same home, many Americans still prioritize staying close to family—further reinforcing the growing appeal and cultural value of multigenerational living.
From left: Johnson's grandma crying on the stairs; and her grandpa stood outside with his arms crossed in utter disbelief.
From left: Johnson's grandma crying on the stairs; and her grandpa stood outside with his arms crossed in utter disbelief.
TikTok/@alexis_nikohl
Johnson told Newsweek: "No one in my immediate family had owned a home since my great-grandmother passed away, so I was the first to break that cycle.
"It's been an honor to bring my family together under one roof and be able to spend more time with my grandparents. The laughs and memories have been endless, and it's brought me so much peace."
So far, the video—captioned: "[One] year later, and it is still the best day of my life"—has more than 1.3 million likes and over 14,700 comments.
One user wrote: "To lift a family, an entire [three] generations into a new/higher economic class, is a strength and love AND purpose that many [people] can't even come close to achieving. Amazing."
"Multigenerational living is beautiful!!" commented another, and Johnson replied, "It truly is! My family did it for generations before my time."
A third user's comment read: "The fact your family is so harmonious and could live together at those ages … that's a happy strong family right there."
If you have a family dilemma, let us know via life@newsweek.com. We can ask experts for advice, and your story could be featured on Newsweek.
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Chapter 1 | Foster care split 5 sisters. Their journey speaks for millions of others. Torn apart in foster care, the consequences of family separation rippled through the lives of Amy and her sisters – and then their children. Amy can point out 19 houses where she grew up in her Mississippi hometown. That tally doesn't include the places in other cities and states where child welfare workers took her to live. Driving around a corner on a residential street dusted in green pollen, Amy noted the patch of wild spearmint she once plucked for tea with her mother and sisters. She remembered climbing pecan trees in the yard of a foster mom who taught Amy to cook but beat her own daughter. She pointed up a hill to the children's shelter. It was the only place Amy and her four sisters were together after being taken from their family. Torn apart, the sisters could no longer care for one another. Or play. Or bicker, as sisters do. In the decades that followed, the consequences of family separation rippled through the lives of Amy and her sisters – and then their children. The family's story parallels major changes in child welfare policy that has taken millions of young Americans out of their homes. And the sisters' experiences highlight the importance of family bonds to healthy childhoods – whether in the care of parents or other kin. 'Whatever affects you as a child is going to affect you as an adult,' Amy, 37, said. 'There's things that I still have to deal with.' To tell this story, USA TODAY visited Amy's family and social workers who know them. Reporters reviewed family photos and documents as well as recording more than 20 hours of interviews. Amy's experience was compared with thousands of pages of court records, state reports and federal statistics about kids removed from their homes by the government over the last three decades, particularly in Mississippi. To protect the privacy of sensitive health and social information of minors too young to consent to having it appear online, USA TODAY used first names for adults and middle names for kids. USA TODAY does not name survivors of sexual assault. State and county child welfare agencies take about 200,000 kids from their parents each year. Decades-old federal mandates say children should be placed in 'family-like' foster homes or, even better, with actual family members. Yet, most kids will live in group shelters or with strangers. Most remain in state custody for almost two years each time they are removed. A fifth spend more than four years in foster care before finding a permanent home. 'The foster care system has forgotten its main goal,' Amy said. 'It's reunification.' The results of extended separation are well documented in research. Foster kids who are not reunited with their families are more likely to become homeless, have unplanned pregnancies, be trafficked, use drugs and go to prison, among other poor outcomes. In short: Government systems designed to save children often harm them, too. That was true for Amy. She saw violence. She stopped trusting people. She lost critical opportunities to build lifelong bonds. She learned to mute her feelings to survive in a chaotic world but not how to sink roots for her future. Because the sisters grew up in so many different homes, they did not have a common story to bind them as family. 'So it was really hard to even have a connection.' Amy agreed to share her story so foster youth and relatives who care for kids would feel less alone. She wants the people who are funding federal programs, writing state laws and reviewing child welfare files to understand the impact of their choices – especially when all the options have downsides. Amy believes kids removed from their parents should live with relatives as often as possible. She wants policy reforms to make that a realistic choice for more children. 'We really couldn't find anybody in the family that would actually keep us, ' she said. 'So me and my sisters, we got split up. And we got sent to different homes.' Neglected Amy's oldest sister Marlena, 14, heard a car pull up and walked to the bottom of the hill to see if her mom was returning from errands. She wasn't. A cop and a social worker arrived, apparently to follow up on a tip about child neglect. When they entered the house on Spring Street, five-year-old Amy hid under the bed that was buried in thrift clothes. The officer and social worker found the girls alone in a home crowded with boxes of clothes and stacks of magazines. Because they had found Marlena outside, they said they had no proof she'd been watching her sisters. They took the girls. This is why most kids are removed from their homes. It starts with a tip from a mandatory reporter. Professionals – like cops, teachers or doctors – are required by law to report child abuse and neglect. Research has found disparate mandatory reporting to be one reason that Black families, like Amy's, are investigated and their kids removed more often. Once a child welfare worker decides to take kids into state custody, they list neglect as the reason in about two-thirds of cases. Fewer kids are removed because of physical abuse or sexual violence. In most states, the definition of child neglect closely mirrors poverty: a failure to provide basic needs, such as food, clothing, shelter and medical care. Amid national welfare reform in the 1990s, when Amy was was a child, the number of people in Mississippi who received cash benefits for their kids dropped 73% over a decade even though poverty did not decline. Those who could not work, like Amy's mom, found it nearly impossible to secure aid. Amy called their first removal 'crazy.' Yes, she said, her family was poor. But they made do. Her stepdad was not active in child-rearing but filled the traditional role of a provider. The garbage truck driver salvaged furniture for their home. When he left an 18-speed bike on the porch, Amy taught herself to ride it in the church parking lot even though it was taller than she was. A photo shows Amy's mom beaming in a red woven shirt framed with white lace. She stands, hands on hips, in front of a closet door hanging crooked on its hinge. To her right teeters a shoulder-high pile of cardboard boxes. To her left, the drawers of an armoire are too full to close. Kay K, the youngest sister, sits on the floor in a diaper, looking up at the camera between thick braids. Although the sisters don't know why – no one ever told them – their first stay in foster care was short, suggesting state social workers decided they were, in fact, safe at home. For good A couple years later, Amy's mom and stepdad had separated. Amy, her mom and sisters lived in a different rental in the same aging neighborhood. Strangers, many down on their luck, were often invited to live there. Amy's mom introduced them as cousins or aunties even though most weren't. The woman, known for her big heart, wanted to help everyone. One night, Amy, then 8, was asleep in her mom's bed. An acquaintance entered the room and, without waking anyone else, raped her. When Shanaaka, 13, discovered Amy was bleeding down there, their mom took her to the hospital. She was put into some big machine. Dr. Smith sewed her up. Maybe a sexual assault kit was collected. She's not sure because the memories are fragmented, as is common among trauma survivors. Her mom 'did nothing about it.' A few nights later, while their mom was at a night class, Shanaaka pressed the button on a tape recorder and told Amy to describe what happened. I'm gonna take this to my teacher at the school, the older sister told the younger. She had hoped police would arrest the man. Instead, Amy said child welfare workers 'came and got us for good.' As a child, Amy felt 'a sad release' when she was taken from a mom who did not protect her. As an adult, her feelings are complicated. Just because she wasn't safe with her mom doesn't mean she wanted to be isolated from her sisters, taken out of her hometown and bounced between foster placements. Today, Amy says her mother denies she ever was attacked and, if pushed to talk about it, says the government lied to steal her kids. 'It doesn't bother me anymore,' Amy said. 'But it's like, you never will get it out of her that this was her I forgive her.' Amy believes her mom's inconsistent parenting resulted from both willful disregard and paranoid schizophrenia. The woman was unavailable for an interview with USA TODAY because she was hospitalized. Untreated, Amy said the mental health condition's fantastical conspiracies tainted her mom's decisions. Treated, the medications locked her in a sleepy daze. She did not drink or use drugs, which would have made mental health challenges worse. When the girls were removed the second time, Amy's mom had a breakdown that sent her to the state hospital. The aunt Mississippi officials tried to keep the sisters together. On paper, it was a victory when Amy's aunt, her stepfather's sister, brought them to her home shortly after the first removal. Research has consistently found that kids do better living with relatives. Despite the challenges of being separated from parents, they report being happier and are less likely to be moved because of behavior problems than when they are placed with strangers. Their culture and community is maintained. Kids are less often separated from siblings or forced to change schools. For decades policy makers questioned whether placing kids with relatives is best – and still do in some places today. They often have a 'rotten tree' belief: If the parents are not suitable caregivers, the whole family must be the same. Supporters of kinship care argue that a tree can have many branches. Other times, relatives want to help but just don't have the means. Amy's aunt and uncle lived in a brick home in a new subdivision with spacious yards. The three-bedroom house was crowded before Amy and her sisters arrived. State case workers had placed another relative's children with her, too.'There were 10 or 11 of us kids,' she said. Amy remembers 'being hungry all the time.' 'She used to bring us moon pies. And I cannot stand chocolate moon pies to this day because that's all she used to bring us to eat.' One day, Amy overheard her aunt arguing with the caseworker about money. 'They were supposed to give her payments, and they didn't.' The U.S. Supreme Court ruled in 1979 that states had to pay the same amount for relatives providing care as it did for strangers – if they had a foster care license. Nothing, however, required states to license relatives. By 2001, one research team found that kinship families in at least 26 states could be denied financial support. A 2004 lawsuit against the state of Mississippi documented that caseworkers steered relatives away from licensing options and would even deny financial assistance to those who were licensed. Caregiving: His sick wife asked him to kill her. Now that she's gone, he says the loneliness is worse. To care for Amy and her four sisters, Mississippi would have paid a foster home of strangers about $3,000 each month and a group home $14,000. Double that to include the other nieces and nephews. Amy's aunt was paid nothing. Even if she sought a foster care license, she likely could not have qualified. The aunt would have had to comply with rules such as limits on how many people could sleep in each room. She would have needed to buy a much bigger house without any help to do so. Kinship families can disintegrate under unique pressures like these. Amy doesn't know why they didn't stay longer than a month. She guesses, because of that overheard conversation, money was a factor. The cynical side of Amy wonders if her aunt feared their presence could damage a future run for city alderwoman. Or, that their connection through her stepdad was not close enough to matter. In the end, the aunt returned all but two of her nieces and nephews to foster care. Amy and her sisters were sent to live with strangers. Sheltered The girls, ages 5 to 16, arrived at a Mississippi children's shelter again. Amy was 8. An adult showed them to a room, pointing out two twin beds for the five sisters. Kay K, the youngest, had always clung to her mom, wailed and kicked. She didn't understand. In a single day in 2023, almost 1-in-10 foster kids nationwide were living in group homes or institutions, about half the rate in 2003. While Amy was in state custody, Mississippi's rate was 1-in-5. Amy remembers all the shelters she lived in as 'impersonal.' Staff rotated in and out. Night shift, day shift. Checking boxes on forms. No one tries to get to know you. The staffers and their bosses, she said, were just there for the money. 'And the more children you have, the more money you have.' Sometimes one person went out of their way to remember Amy's name and ask about her day. But usually not. 'They're just there to watch you,' she said. 'Children need some type of embracing, guiding, you know? But you don't get that in a bigger setting. There's no love.' To grow healthy brains, kids need to feel safe. They require a stable relationship with a caregiver. Someone who always shows up when they cry for food or help or hugs. That is secure attachment, in psychological terms. When the world is unpredictable and people in it are all strangers – as is the experience of foster children – brains spend more time in survival mode. Kids become wired to expect danger, reacting moment to moment. Sometimes, they disconnect, finding safety in numbness. Attachment wounds are, in essence, damage to the way people connect with each other. The damage must be repaired through healthy, meaningful relationships that retrain the brain. Since 1980, Congress has required states to prioritize 'family-like' care over group facilities. The thinking was a temporary parent has to be better than no parent. Amy, at least, had her sisters at the shelter. They looked out for each other, especially when adults didn' K's tantrums continued beyond the first night. Away from home, she burst into screams, blurred fists and bites every day. The caretakers called for Amy, the tallest, or Marlena, the oldest. The adults relied on the girls to restrain Kay K. To pin her arms down in a hug until she tired out and quieted. One day, a few weeks after arriving, Amy and her sisters were told they were leaving. And they would not be living together. Jackson Amy wasn't at the foster home in Jackson very long, but she still thinks about the night she left. Sometimes, she has nightmares. She imagines different endings. 'What could I have done?' she wonders. 'But then it's like, if I had jumped in, what would they have done to me?' The two biological children always ate first and as much as they wanted. The foster kids received strict portions. The bio kids hit and teased the others without punishment. If the fosters talked back to the bios, the parents brought out a whooping belt. The baby, maybe 2 or 3 years old, never seemed to leave his metal crib. He cried most nights. Amy and the older fosters would calm him, quiet him, so the foster parents wouldn't become upset. One night, the young boy took a piece of chicken from the foster parents' school-age son. The man grabbed the toddler by an arm and a leg. He swung him into the metal bars of the crib. He and his wife punched him. Again and again. The other fosters watched from their beds, silent. 'It went on and on forever,' Amy said. 'We were trying to tune it out.' While child welfare agencies report maltreatment is rare in state care, many foster kids say that doesn't reflect the real level of abuse they experience. One typical study found that a third of former foster youth from Oregon and Washington described being abused while in state care. That figure doesn't include child-on-child violence, which can be more common. In Mississippi, it was unlikely for abuse in foster homes to be documented. In a 2004 federal class action lawsuit covering the years Amy was in the system, more than 8,000 foster youth sued the state. It detailed routine failures to provide adequate care and poor monitoring of foster parents, among other complaints. Many of the issues stemmed from inadequate staffing: Caseworkers routinely handled more than 10 times the recommended number of cases. In the county where Amy watched the attack on a little boy, each caseworker handled an average of 114 cases. Decades later, after lurches forward and backward, the state still hasn't met all the terms of a court-monitored agreement to improve the system. That night in Jackson, a few years before the lawsuit, Amy is not sure who called 911. She was asleep by the time police arrived and woke her. Come on. Get your stuff. It's time to go. Amy didn't think much of it. She had to go wherever they told her to go, whenever they wished. Even if it was a cold night and she was just wearing shorts underneath the officer's jacket. After being questioned, Amy joined the other sleepy kids in a waiting room at the child welfare office. She could hear a caseworker crying as she choked out questions to the foster parents. 'I heard them say they had broken the baby's ribs,' Amy remembered. 'But I never knew what happened after that. 'Did he pass away? 'Or did he recover?' Pecans In the absence of biological family, Amy was shaped by the people she met in foster care. An elderly Black woman who lived in the country raised pigs and had fingernails several feet long. The multicultural family in Tennessee taught Amy to appreciate Asian cuisine but didn't know how to care for her Black hair. 'They all had their faults,' she said. Still, Amy is grateful that she saw new ways to live and learned independence in foster care. She wouldn't be who she is without those experiences. Some of her good memories come from Second Street North in her hometown. The two-story white house sat on a corner tucked behind a white picket fence. Pecan trees shaded the trimmed lawn. At times, her sisters Angelia and Kay K lived there, too. The girls would walk two houses down the street to spend the weekend at their mom's house. They would call their foster mom once they got there so she knew they were safe. Each Sunday, they returned to the foster home to start dinner before going to church. Amy learned to pick greens from the garden and bake cornbread. She continues the tradition of cooking with her own kids today. 'My just-get-up-and-do-it attitude, I kind of get from there,' Amy said. 'She always had us fixing up things.' A screen door. Rotting porch stairs. A microwave stand. The house was down the hill from her elementary school, so she jumped rope with classmates on the street. Her best friend lived next door. One time, the girls knocked over a ceramic Black angel from a collectibles shelf. They swept the broken pieces and hid them, hoping their foster mom wouldn't notice it was missing. She did. The smaller girls ran upstairs to hide under their bed. Amy took the blame. She was favored, for some reason. She would be scolded and wanted to protect her sister. 'Had it been them, she might've whooped them.' It wasn't a theoretical fear. Their foster mom's adult daughter lived in the house, too. They saw how she berated and beat her. The woman was always crying. When the daughter tripped on a raised floorboard and dropped food, Amy watched as her foster mom shoved the woman's face down to the ground, telling her to eat. She ate it all. At some point, the woman's teenage son told a teacher about it. 'It wasn't bad for me. She always would treat me like a grandmother would treat their grandchild,' she said. 'She always did for us. And that's kind of what you hope for in a foster home.' Amy was moved again. Her sisters were taken somewhere else. Returned A caseworker told Amy, now 12, that she would be going home. 'I didn't realize she meant home home.' Similar promises over the years had never materialized. She never thought about why she didn't live with her parents and sisters. She tried to live in the moment, the now. No one could predict her future with any accuracy. Why should she try when she had no control? 'I learned really young, I couldn't trust anything.' What Amy didn't know is that Marlena had spoken up at the court hearing to terminate their mother's parental rights. The 17-year-old girl told the judge she would help raise her sisters. And, despite the long odds, the judge eventually agreed to send the girls home so long as Marlena helped her mother raise them. Amy remembers a social worker driving her from Jackson to her hometown. She recognized the big strip mall as they passed. Seeing the landmark, she thought, I'm home. She doesn't remember the rest of that day. Did mom greet them with a hug? Had Marlena prepared a special meal? Were her other sisters already there? For Amy, it was another home full of strangers. Chapter 2: Surviving | Against all odds, Amy's teen sister brings the family back together. Can they reestablish their bonds? This article was produced as a project for the USC Annenberg Center for Health Journalism's 2025 Child Welfare Impact Reporting Fund. Jayme Fraser is an investigative data reporter at USA TODAY. She can be reached on Signal or WhatsApp at (541) 362-1393 or by emailing jfraser@
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