Months later, a judge declared Hazel officially ours.
We painted her room pale green and found sunflower bedding. When we brought her home, she stood in the doorway, unsure.
“Is this really my room?” she asked.
“It is,” I told her. “All of it.”
She touched the bed, the dresser, the curtains, as if they might vanish. Then she hugged me around the waist.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to thank us,” I said. “You’re home.”
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