Every family before us wanted four-year-old Josie—until they learned adopting her meant taking her 16-year-old brother too. We said yes to both. A month later, their former foster mother called and asked one question that changed everything: “They still haven’t told you why they picked you?”
My husband and I spent five years trying to have a child before we finally gave up on falling pregnant.
It wasn’t that we wanted a family any less.
We were simply tired of doctor visits, tests, medications, and disappointment.
One night, after another failed appointment, Daniel sat beside me on our kitchen floor while I cried.
We finally gave up on falling pregnant.
“We still have room,” he said quietly. “We could adopt.”
***
Eight months later, we met Josie.
She was four years old, with brown curls, enormous dark eyes, and a smile that appeared slowly, like she wasn’t sure whether she was allowed to use it yet.
She was sitting at a small table in the agency’s family room, coloring a purple dog.
Eight months later, we met Josie.
“That’s a nice dog,” Daniel told her.
“It’s a wolf.”
“Then that’s an excellent wolf.”
She studied him for about three seconds before laughing.
I loved her immediately.
She studied him for about three seconds before laughing.
I know you’re not supposed to say things like that. We had been warned not to arrive expecting some magical instant bond.
