WE ADOPTED A 4-YEAR-OLD GIRL — JUST A MONTH LATER, MY WIFE DEMANDED, “WE SHOULD GIVE HER BACK.” My wife, Claire, and I tried for years to have a baby. When that failed, she suggested adoption. It felt right. After months of waiting, we met Sophie — a bright-eyed 4-year-old who had been in foster care since infancy. From day one, she clung to us, calling us Mommy and Daddy before it was even official. And then, one month after bringing her home, I walked in from work, and Sophie barreled into me, wrapping her little arms around my legs. Her voice trembled. “I don’t wanna leave.” Confused, I knelt down. “Leave where, sweetheart?” Her lips trembled, and tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t wanna go away again. I wanna stay with you and Mommy.” A cold chill ran through me. “That won’t happen,” I assured her, stroking her hair. But then, Claire stepped into the hallway, her face pale, her expression unreadable. “We need to talk.” I sent Sophie to her room, promising her everything was fine. She nodded, sniffling, and went, but I could feel her little heart racing against mine. The moment her door closed, Claire turned to me, her jaw tight. “We need to give her back.” I blinked, sure I had misheard. “What?” When she told me her reason, I took a step back. See less

For Simon and Claire, the dream of parenthood had been a long and winding road. After years of heartache and the agonizing wait for a child, they finally found hope in the possibility of adoption. When they welcomed little Sophie—a vibrant four-year-old with sparkling brown eyes and a wild head of curls—into their lives, it felt as if all the years of struggle had finally borne fruit. Every tear shed during endless interviews and every sleepless night spent filling out forms culminated in that magical moment when Sophie ran into Simon’s arms as if she had been waiting for him all along.

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MY PARENTS SAID SHE’S “TOO BIG” FOR ME—BUT THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M ABOUT TO DO So here’s how the last Sunday dinner went down. I brought my fiancée, Mallory, over to meet my parents officially. She’s tall, broad-shouldered, platinum blonde, and yeah—she’s not a size two. But Mallory’s the warmest, sharpest, most loyal person I’ve ever met. She lights up every room she walks into, even if she doesn’t fit into whatever narrow box people expect. My mom barely smiled when she hugged her. My dad wouldn’t even look her in the eye. The whole meal felt like sitting on top of a powder keg. Then, as soon as Mallory stepped out to take a call, my mom leaned in like she couldn’t wait. She said, dead serious, “Honey… you sure you want to marry someone that big? You’re a small guy. It’s not a good match.” My dad chimed in, talking about “health” and how I’d “resent it later.” I felt like the table flipped upside down. I couldn’t even process it at first. I just stared at them, thinking about how Mallory always cooks for me when I’m stressed, how she pays attention to every little thing I like, how she’s the first person I’ve ever felt completely safe with. I didn’t argue. I didn’t defend her. I just said nothing. (continues in the first comment🗨️⬇️

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