If resemblance was the reason I wanted Emma, I had no business being there.
Instead, I sat near Zoe, who was fighting with an untied shoelace.
“Want help?”
“No. I can do it.”
“Okay.”
She struggled for nearly a minute before finally tying it herself.
Then she looked up proudly.
“I did it.”
“You did.”
That tiny moment grounded me.
They did not need me to rescue them.
They needed someone willing to learn who they already were.
I asked for another visit.
Then another.
During their first weekend at my house, I made macaroni and cheese.
Every single child hated it.
I looked around the table.
“Impressive. Six children and apparently none of you has good taste.”
Dylan laughed.
Mason didn’t.
“Are we coming back?” he asked.
The room changed.
“I hope so.”
“Even if we don’t like your food?”
“Especially then. Macaroni and cheese doesn’t get to make major family decisions.”
A few of them smiled.
Mason kept watching me.
He was waiting to see whether I meant it.
They all tested me in different ways.
Owen repeated questions to see whether my answers changed.
Claire watched how I handled Zoe’s tantrums.
Dylan broke a lamp and immediately started packing because he assumed I would send him away.
Emma became silent whenever she was upset.
And Mason always counted everyone.
Months later, after the assessments and visits were completed, all 6 children were placed with me.
The formal adoption was finalized later.
Moving in did not instantly make us a family.
The first year was hard.
Zoe cried at night.
Dylan hid food under his bed.
Owen got into trouble at school.
Claire tried to parent everyone.
Mason kept one suitcase packed for months because he still wasn’t convinced they were staying.
Then one morning, I made the mistake I had always feared.
“Come on, Sophie. Get your shoes.”
Silence.
Emma stood in the hallway.
My stomach dropped.
Sophie had been my daughter’s name.
“I’m sorry, Emma.”
She stared at me.
“Do I look like her?”
I sat beside her.
“A little.”
