When I first held Mia, she barreled into me, all messy hair and sparkly green eyes, smelling like crayons and spring air. My wife, Jenna, and I had ached for a family after years of dashed dreams, so adopting Mia felt like the sun breaking through. She was ours, and I’d never been happier.
The social worker, Ms. Linda, eyed us over her desk as Mia doodled on my hand. “This is for keeps—are you sure?” she asked. Jenna smiled, “Absolutely, she’s our daughter.” Ms. Linda nodded but cautioned that Mia’s rough past might mean tantrums or messes—we’d need grit as much as heart.
For a bit, it was bliss. Jenna danced with Mia, calling her our princess. Then one night, I came home to an eerie quiet, and Mia hugged me tight, mumbling, “Don’t let me go, Daddy.” Her fear jolted me—who’d put that in her head?
Jenna appeared, tense, avoiding my eyes. “We’ve got to talk,” she said flatly. I coaxed Mia to her toys with a dinner promise, her glances darting between us. Alone, Jenna blurted, “She’s got to go back—she’s ruining everything, my sketches, my dresses!”
“What happened?” I asked. She groaned about Mia smudging her wedding gown with purple marker, a memory gone sour. “She’s just a kid,” I said, but Jenna hissed, “She’s pushing me out!” I couldn’t fathom it—our little girl, a villain in her story?
“You begged for this too,” I said, recalling her excitement. She snapped, “Choose—her or me,” betting I’d fold. “Mia’s mine now,” I replied, unshaken. She scoffed, “Over me?” I stood tall, “Over wrong.” She snatched her purse and peeled out, leaving us in the dust.
Three weeks later, we faced off with a mediator, Ms. Ellen, in a drab office. Jenna, polished and poised, said, “I panicked—I want us again.” I remembered Mia’s cries after she left, her small voice asking where Mommy went, blaming herself.
“You ditched her,” I said. She whispered, “I wasn’t ready.” I fired back, “Neither was I, but I didn’t run.” Her tears fell, but I wouldn’t budge—Mia needed a rock, not a maybe. “Love’s gone,” I told her, ending it cold and clear.
Now, a year later, Mia’s wary of sudden noises, clutching me when shadows loom. But her laughter’s blooming, her faith in me deepening. At bedtime, she gripped my hand, “You’ll stay, Daddy?” I hugged her close, “Always,” and she drifted off, home for good.
