My throat tightened at her words. “That sounds perfect,” I told her.
I hesitated, then smiled. “You can call me whatever feels right.”
“I’m Lila,” she said softly.
Mrs. Patterson joined us and explained that Lila had been at the shelter for about a year, moving between foster homes before that. When her illness returned, the families had been unable to care for her. Lila was battling leukemia — diagnosed at age five, she had gone into remission, but the cancer had returned last spring. She was stable, but needed ongoing treatment, which was a heavy burden for most families. I turned back to Lila, who was quietly humming as she colored her imaginary house. Then I heard her small voice ask the question that broke my heart: “Do you think anyone would want me? Even if I get sick again?”
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.Continue reading…
