The woman gave us a few more instructions, background documents, emergency contact updates and a reminder that adoption was not a rescue. I wrote it down and underlined it twice.
Because I needed to remember that.
This little boy was not a project for me and Marlon to take on because we feel like we were ready for a new challenge. He was not a way to prove we could be better than our own parents. He was not a bandage for everything me and Marlon had survived.
He was a person. A small whole person. He had fears and preferences and memories that had nothing to do with us. And if we got lucky enough to love him, we had to love him properly.
Not selfishly.
“What if I’m bad at this?” I asked aloud after the woman finished explaining the next step.
“Bad parents usually don’t worry about being bad parents before the child is even home, Ms. Rodriguez.”
I let out a small breath. “That sounds nice, but I’ve met parents who worried and still did damage.”
“That’s true,” she said. “Worry alone isn’t enough. But self-awareness, support, consistency, and willingness to learn matter. From everything we’ve seen, you and Mr. Sinclair are taking this seriously and Elias will be loved.”
Marlon’s hand came to the back of my chair.
But I don’t know how to be a mother.
For once, I wasn’t trying to make it funny or play it off. I genuinely don’t know what it feels like to be mothered every day, so how am I supposed to do that for somebody else?
Even though I was sure we could provide everything this child needed, was I nurturing?
Marlon’s fingers finally brushed my shoulder.
I looked up at him.
He looked back at me with that calm, serious face that used to drive me insane and now made me feel less alone.
“Rory,” he said.
I blinked. “What?”
He hooked his finger into the chain around my neck and pulled me closer. “You gotta breathe, my love.”
My heart stopped, not gonna lie. But I swallowed and nodded.
The woman gave us a final rundown, then promised to send the written plan by the end of the day. I thanked her threetimes. Marlon thanked her once, but his one sounded more professional than all three of mine combined.
When the call ended, I didn’t move.
I stared at my notes and Marlon stayed behind me.
“You okay?” he asked.
I laughed under my breath. “No.”
He came around the island and sat beside me. “Then talk. Communicate.”
I looked at him. “You love that damn word.”
“And you love acting like words are gonna kill you.”
I rolled my eyes, but it didn’t have much energy behind it.
“I’m scared,” I admitted.
