The adoption paperwork said Bobby’s parents were deceased. For twelve months, we loved our quiet little boy through his silence, never suspecting the bombshell he was carrying. His first spoken words on his sixth birthday – “My parents didn’t die” – launched us into a investigation that exposed a web of lies.
The wealthy couple we eventually confronted had paid off the foster system to hide their shame – they’d discarded their son when he developed a temporary childhood illness. Seeing their mansion and hearing their excuses, I understood why Bobby had been so afraid to trust.
But when he reached for my hand and said “I want to go home with you,” I finally understood what motherhood really means. It’s not about giving birth – it’s about showing up every day, no matter what.
