He worked with them to find jobs.
And that’s how we found our son.
He was too skinny for a start.
He was jumpy.
Didn’t talk to anyone.
Didn’t let anyone touch him.
But he touched my heart the second I saw him. I had a reaction, one I couldn’t explain then, and I wouldn’t be able to explain at his high school graduation or his wedding.
Because I believed in love at first sight.
That people belonged to each other.
And he belonged to me.
I didn’t tell Heath immediately and he didn’t have the same reaction as me. Not until Skye started having an episode. One that was common with babies like her. It was something more than a crying jag. It was horrible, heartbreaking to watch. Because nothing could calm her down. She had to cry it out.
People at the shelter knew this, knew us, and they understood Skye.
And they knew that it was made worse when people tried to comfort her. She barely quietened when Heath gently rocked her—and she had a special bond with her dad already.
Heath froze as the skinny, bruised boy came up. He was on high alert when his daughter was involved. But something gave him pause.
Skye’s screams silenced the second he put his hand on her tiny chest.
Utter silence.
Heath gaped at the boy.
And he was a boy. Upon closer inspection even younger than I’d thought.
Ten, at the most.
And he was at a homeless shelter, wearing dirty and torn clothes, sporting a bruise and a sadness in his eyes that broke my soul. And he gave my daughter peace in the midst of chaos even Heath and I couldn’t calm.
He was ours since then.
It wasn’t easy getting him to trust us.
To realize we weren’t going to hurt him, leave him, scar him more.
It wasn’t easy getting the adoption to go through.
But it was worth it.