She was small, all wide brown eyes and wild curls, smelling of baby shampoo and fresh grass. She clung to me like she had already decided I was hers, as if she somehow 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 had been agonizing—months of paperwork, home visits, 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.
