About a year after the adoption was finalized, life felt… ordinary, in its chaotic way. School runs, homework battles, doctor visits, soccer practice, arguments about screen time.
The house buzzed with noise and energy.
One morning, after dropping them off at school and daycare, I returned home to start work.
Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone.
A woman in a dark suit stood outside, holding a leather briefcase. “Good morning. Are you Michael? And you’re the adoptive father of Owen, Tessa, Cole, and Ruby?”
“Yes,” I said. “Are they okay?”
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