The paperwork took weeks, with background checks, home visits, and interviews that felt like they’d never end. But finally, on a sunny Thursday morning, Lila became mine.
Her first night at home, she stood in the doorway of her new bedroom, clutching a small backpack that held everything she owned.
“This is really mine?” she whispered.
“All yours, sweetheart,” I said, my voice thick. “For as long as you want it.”
She didn’t want to sleep alone that first night. I sat on the edge of her bed, holding her hand until her breathing evened out and her grip loosened.
A few nights later, I heard her crying softly around midnight. I rushed to her room and found her tangled in the blankets, tears streaming down her face.
“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” I whispered, sitting beside her.
She looked at me with those big brown eyes. “Mom?”
I froze. She’d never called me that before.
“Yes, sweetheart?” My voice cracked. “I’m right here.”
