A week later, I resigned from my job.
When I came home after turning in my notice, Joshua wrapped his arms around me so tightly it felt like he never wanted to let go.
After that, our lives revolved around paperwork, interviews, and endless meetings with adoption agencies. Every evening, we sat together on the couch filling out forms and preparing for home evaluations.
Joshua threw himself into the process with frightening intensity.
Then one night, he found them.
“Look,” he whispered, turning his laptop toward me. “Four-year-old twin boys. Matthew and William.”
I studied their picture carefully.
“They look terrified,” I said quietly.
Joshua squeezed my hand.
“Maybe we could make them feel safe.”
My chest tightened.
“I want to try.”
He contacted the agency that same night.
The first time we met the twins, I watched Joshua more than the children.
He crouched down beside Matthew and offered him a dinosaur sticker.
“Do you like dinosaurs?” he asked gently.
Matthew barely nodded, staying close to his brother.
William spoke instead.
“He doesn’t talk much. I usually talk for both of us.”
Then he looked directly at me, cautious and observant, like he was trying to decide whether I could be trusted.
So I knelt beside them and smiled softly.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I usually talk for Joshua too.”
Joshua laughed instantly.
“She’s absolutely right,” he told them.
For the first time, Matthew smiled.
And William stepped just a little closer.
The day the boys moved into our home, the entire house felt nervous.
Joshua greeted them beside the car with excitement.
“We bought matching pajamas for you both,” he announced proudly.
That night, they flooded the bathroom during bath time, splashed water everywhere, and turned our peaceful house into complete chaos.
And for the first time in years, our home sounded alive.
Laughter echoed through every room.
For weeks, life felt magical.
Pancake dinners.
Bedtime stories.
LEGO castles scattered across the floor.
Two frightened little boys slowly learning to trust us.
One night, after another exhausting day, I sat beside their beds listening to them breathe softly in the dark.
Earlier, William had cried over a missing toy while Matthew refused to eat dinner.
As I tucked the blankets around them, Matthew suddenly opened his eyes.
“Are you gonna still be here tomorrow?” he whispered nervously.
My heart shattered.
“Always,” I promised. “I’ll be here every morning.”
William rolled toward me clutching his stuffed bear.
For the first time, he reached for my hand.
And somewhere in that moment, I became their mother.
But while the boys were growing closer to me…
Joshua was drifting away.
At first, it was subtle.
He started coming home later and later.
“Long day,” he’d mumble without meeting my eyes.
He still smiled at the boys during dinner, but afterward he disappeared into his office and shut the door.
I became the one cleaning spilled juice off the floor.
Comforting tantrums.
Handling nightmares.
Meanwhile, Joshua buried himself behind phone calls and glowing computer screens.
One night, after a particularly difficult evening, I finally confronted him.
“Josh… are you okay?”
He barely glanced up from his laptop.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
I studied him carefully.
“Are you happy?”
He shut the computer too quickly.
“Hanna, of course I am. This is what we wanted.”
But something inside me twisted painfully.
Because I no longer believed him.
