The first time I met Sophie, she ran into my arms like we’d known each other forever. She was small, bright-eyed, with bouncing curls and the sweet scent of grass and baby shampoo. She held onto me with a kind of trust that felt overwhelming—in the best way. In that moment, she wasn’t just a child we were adopting. She was my daughter.
Claire and I had been through so much to get to that day—years of challenges, heartbreak, and mountains of paperwork. When we finally met Sophie, our social worker, Karen, asked us one last time if we were sure. Claire didn’t hesitate. “She’s ours,” she said, squeezing my hand. Karen gently reminded us that love was just the beginning—what mattered most was commitment. Kids like Sophie had been through a lot. They needed stability, patience, and understanding. We believed we were ready. I truly thought we were.
About a month later, I came home from work and sensed something was off. The house was quiet—too quiet. Then Sophie came around the corner, tears in her eyes, and wrapped her arms around my legs. “I don’t want to leave, Daddy,” she whispered. My heart dropped.
“Leave where, sweetheart?” I asked gently. She looked up at me with worry. “I want to stay with you and Mommy.”
Claire stood nearby, her arms tightly crossed. Her voice was calm but distant. “We need to talk,” she said. When I asked why Sophie was afraid, Claire just asked me to send her to her room. Sophie looked unsure but listened.
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