Gently, I brushed a strand of hair from her cheek and whispered, “Sweetheart, I think someone already does.” The process of adoption took weeks — background checks, home visits, endless interviews — but finally, on a bright Thursday morning, Lila became mine. Her first night in her new home, she stood hesitantly in the doorway of her bedroom, clutching a small backpack containing everything she owned.
“All yours, sweetheart,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “For as long as you want it.”
She didn’t want to sleep alone that night, so I sat beside her bed, holding her hand until her breathing slowed and her grip softened. A few nights later, I heard her crying softly around midnight. When I went to her room, she looked at me with those big brown eyes and whispered, “Mom?” I froze — she had never called me that before.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I replied, my voice breaking. “I’m right here.”
She held my hand tightly. “Don’t leave, okay?”
“Never,” I promised.
In that moment, every empty space inside me filled up. The next month passed in a blur of hospital visits, medication schedules, and learning each other’s rhythms. Lila taught me she loved strawberry pancakes and hated oatmeal. I taught her to sing, despite my terrible voice. Some days, she was too weak to leave bed, and we spent hours on the couch watching movies. Other days, she insisted on baking cookies — even if half the ingredients ended up on the floor. Slowly, we found our way together, one quiet moment at a time.Continue reading…
