One visit became many. Samuel watched Elena carefully, the way children who’ve been left behind do — hopeful but guarded. When social services asked if we’d consider fostering, she answered without pause.
Adoption was harder than any surgery I’d performed. Interviews. Inspections. Paperwork that made you question your worth. But nothing was harder than the beginning. Samuel wouldn’t sleep in the bed we bought for him. He slept on the floor beside it, curled inward, as if trying to disappear. I slept in the doorway night after night, not because I feared he’d leave, but because I needed him to know that someone would stay.
For months, he called me “Doctor” and called Elena “Ma’am.” Names felt too risky. The first time he called her “Mom,” he was half-asleep with a fever. When he realized what he’d said, fear filled his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Elena brushed his hair back gently. “You never need to apologize for love.”
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