Suddenly, those ten previous placements looked completely different to me. Once, when a foster mother had started discussing permanent guardianship with him, he’d packed his bags before she could even finish the sentence. “I wanted to leave first,” he explained. “Because leaving hurts considerably less, when you’re the one who actually decides when it happens.”
Then he said the part that genuinely broke me apart. “I was going to do the exact same thing to you.”
I turned back toward him. “What?”
“When I first moved in, I actually had a plan. Give it a couple months. Then start acting different on purpose.” “But you didn’t.” Tears ran freely down his face now. “I messed up completely.” Despite everything, I very nearly laughed. “Then I started loving you instead,” he said. “How?” “I liked being here with you.” He covered his own face with both hands. “I called you Mom without even meaning to. Then the adoption actually happened, and everybody around me seemed genuinely happy, and all I could think about was that Willa would end up hating me for it.”
