She was small, with wide brown eyes and wild curls, smelling of baby shampoo and fresh grass. She clung to me as if she had already decided I was hers, as if she instinctively knew this was home. Claire and I had fought for this moment—years of failed pregnancies, years of heartbreak. When we turned to adoption, the wait was unbearable—months of paperwork, home visits, and interviews.
And now, here we were, sitting across from a social worker with our daughter on my lap.
“You’re sure about this?” Karen asked, her hands resting on a thick folder. Sophie was playing with my wedding ring, humming softly. Claire, sitting beside me, reached for my hand and squeezed it.
