She explained everything slowly, carefully, as if afraid I might disappear again.
Months earlier, she had been approved as a foster parent. A quiet, frightened five-year-old girl had come into her care. A child who had lost her parents in an accident. A child who didn’t speak much, who slept with the light on, who flinched at sudden sounds.
“I didn’t want to tell you until I knew it was certain,” Amelia said. “I was afraid of jinxing it.”
She had been fostering with the hope of adopting. The process was long. Emotional. Full of waiting. And she had done it alone, believing she deserved to.
“She needed a home,” Amelia whispered. “And I thought… maybe I still had something to give.”
My throat closed.
I looked around the apartment again, seeing it differently now. Not chaos. Preparation. Love trying to make space.
A Small Face Behind the Couch
As if on cue, a tiny face peeked out from behind the couch. Big eyes. Nervous. Curious. She clutched a teddy bear nearly as large as her torso.
“This is Lily,” Amelia said gently.
The little girl studied me, then offered a tentative wave.
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