Later, the social worker explained the situation gently — foster care, temporary placement, and eventual adoption by strangers if no family stepped forward. But I didn’t let her finish.
“I’m family,” I responded firmly. “I’ll take him. Whatever paperwork needs to happen, whatever background checks and home studies and court dates… I’ll do it. He’s not going anywhere without me.”
“I’ve got you, buddy.
I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”
It took months of legal processes, evaluations, and proving I could provide a stable home for a grieving toddler. But I didn’t care how long it took or how hard it was.
Leo was all I had left of Nora, and I’d be damned if I let him grow up the way we did… alone and unloved.
Six months later, the adoption was finalized. I became a father overnight. I was terrified, overwhelmed, and grieving. But I was absolutely certain I’d made the right choice.
The next 12 years passed in a blur of school drop-offs, packed lunches, bedtime stories, and scraped knees. My entire world became this little boy, who’d already lost too much.
Leo was all I had left of Nora.