“I mean hating myself for something I can’t control,” I said. “If I’m going to be a mother, it has to be another way.”
He was quiet for a long moment. Then he asked, “Do you still want to be a mom?”
“Yes. More than anything.”
“Then let’s find a different path,” he said. “Let’s adopt.”
There was no dramatic turning point after that. Just paperwork, interviews, parenting classes, and a social worker named Denise inspecting our home with calm professionalism. She tested our smoke detectors, opened closets, and asked careful questions about how we handled conflict and discipline.
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