“Then make it legal.” I leaned forward. “I’ll adopt her. Whatever paperwork you need, I’ll sign it. She’s not going into foster care.”
The woman studied me. “This is a permanent commitment.”
I thought about every night Lila and I had been scared and alone. About the kind of childhood I’d sworn no kid of ours would ever have.
“I understand.”
It took six months for the adoption to be finalized. Six months of home visits, background checks, parenting classes, and Miranda asking me every single day if I was going to leave her too.
“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart,” I promised. “You’re stuck with me.”
She was six years old when the judge signed the papers. I sat her down that night and explained it as simply as I could.
“You know I’m not your birth mom, right?”
She nodded, playing with the edge of her blanket.
“But I’m your mom now. Legally. Officially. That means I get to take care of you forever, if that’s okay with you.”
She looked up at me with Lila’s eyes. “Forever?”
“Forever.”
She launched herself into my arms. “Can I call you ‘Mommy’ then?”
“Yes!” I scooped her into my arms and cried.
Growing up together was messy and beautiful. I was young, trying to figure out motherhood on the fly. Miranda was grieving in ways she couldn’t articulate. We had screaming matches and slammed doors. Nights when she cried for Lila and I couldn’t fix it. And some mornings when I was so tired, I put orange juice in her cereal instead of milk, and we both laughed until we cried.
But we figured it out. One day at a time.
On her first day of middle school, she came home and announced she was joining the drama club.
“You hate being on stage,” I said, confused.
“But there’s no harm in trying!” she answered.
I helped her run lines for every play. Attended every performance. Cheered from the audience when she got her first lead role in eighth grade. She was playing Annie, and when she sang “Tomorrow,” I cried so hard the woman next to me offered me tissues.
“That’s my daughter,” I whispered, and saying it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
High school brought new challenges. Boys who broke Miranda’s heart. Friend drama that required late-night ice cream and terrible advice I had no business giving. The time she got her first speeding ticket and cried in my lap like she was seven again.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. Are you mad?”
