After years of infertility, we adopted Sam, a sweet 3-year-old with ocean-blue eyes. But when my husband went to bathe him, he ran out, yelling, “We must return him!” His panic made no sense until I saw the birthmark on Sam’s foot.
Adopting Sam was supposed to bring joy, but it exposed cracks in my marriage I hadn’t seen before. As Mark and I drove to the agency, I fidgeted with the tiny blue sweater I’d bought for Sam, imagining his small shoulders filling it.
Mark tried to hide his nerves, but his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel betrayed him. “We’re ready for this,” he said, forcing a smile.
When we met Sam, his shy smile melted my heart. He handed me a block from his tower, and in that moment, I knew he was meant to be ours. The ride home was quiet but filled with hope.
That evening, Mark offered to bathe Sam while I unpacked his belongings. Moments later, Mark stormed out, his face pale. “We can’t keep him,” he said, voice trembling. “This was a mistake.”
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