Patrice didn’t smile right away. “I’m going to ask you something difficult,” she said. “Are you trying to replace your children?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t think anyone actually could.”
She studied me carefully for a moment. “Good answer.”
The whole process took months altogether — training sessions, interviews, home visits, background checks, and conversations about trauma that sometimes sent me home crying inside my own car. Then one afternoon, Patrice invited me to an agency event, where prospective parents could meet some of the children directly.
Most of the younger kids were busy playing together. One teenage boy sat alone beside a window, a paperback open across his knees. A little girl nearby accidentally knocked over a box of crayons. The boy immediately set down his book and crouched to help her gather them, even crawling beneath a nearby table for the very last blue one. Then he simply returned quietly to his own chair.
