The next morning they drove to the group home, a low brick building with peeling paint and a tired playground. A woman at the entrance recognized Aaron instantly and rushed forward with visible relief. She led them inside and introduced herself as Ms. Reynolds, the director of the home.
When David explained who he was, her expression shifted into something resigned and knowing. She invited him into her office and closed the door quietly behind them.
“Your wife was very involved here,” she said. “She visited often. She read to the children and brought supplies, but she was especially attached to Aaron.”
David felt his chest tighten. “Why him?”
“She wanted to adopt him,” Ms. Reynolds replied simply. “She filed preliminary paperwork and asked many questions, but she never completed the process.”
David looked down at his hands, realizing how much of his wife’s life he had failed to notice while standing right beside her.
That evening, David brought Aaron to his home, a large modern house that suddenly felt cold and unfamiliar. Aaron paused at the doorway, his eyes wide, as though afraid to step inside.
“You can come in,” David said softly.