Page 38 of Echo’s Secret

"Daddy looks weird," Theo announces.

"Thanks, buddy."

"You do look weird," Hannah agrees, fighting a smile. "But good weird. Distinguished weird."

"I look like I'm going to a funeral."

"You look like you're going to pick up your daughter." She stands and crosses to me, smoothing down my collar one more time. "Which is exactly what you're doing."

My daughter.

The words still feel surreal even though we've been planning this for six months. Going through home studies, background checks, interviews. Proving to the state that a house owned by a biker is a suitable environment for children.

We talked about having another baby. Hannah wanted to. I did too. But then we started discussing adoption and something clicked into place. That's how we met, two orphans who found each other. That's who we are. So, adopting felt right. Felt like honoring where we came from while building something better.

The state approved us two months ago. And today, we're bringing home Elena.

She's three years old. Been in foster care since she was six months old. Bounced between homes, never staying anywhere long enough to settle. The file said she's quiet, withdrawn, struggles to trust adults.

I know exactly what that's like.

"You ready?" Hannah asks, searching my face.

Am I ready to become the father of a traumatized three-year-old who doesn't know us? To prove to another child that adults can be safe, can be trusted, can stay?

"Yeah," I say. "I'm ready."

Theo jumps off the bed. "I'm ready too! I'm gonna be the best big brother ever! I already cleaned my room and put toys in Elena's room!"

He's been preparing for weeks. Asked us to paint the third bedroom yellow because "that's a happy color." Picked out stuffed animals from his collection to share. Made a welcome sign that's currently hanging on her door.

He's going to be an amazing big brother.

We head into the living room. Hardwood floors we picked out together. Furniture Hannah chose. Photos on the walls of our family—me, Hannah, and Theo at the park; at the beach last summer; at the clubhouse Christmas party.

A home we built from nothing.

My phone buzzes. Text from Phoenix: *Good luck today. Everyone's excited to meet her. Sunday dinner at the clubhouse?*

I text back: *Yeah. Thanks.*

The family we built still gathers regularly. Sunday dinners at the clubhouse where all the kids play together and the adults catch up. But we have this too, our own space where we can be just us.

"Let’s go" Hannah says, keys in hand.

I nod. Theo grabs both our hands, practically vibrating with excitement.

The drive to the foster care agency takes thirty minutes. Theo talks the entire time about all the things he's going to show Elena: his room, his toys, the backyard with the swing set we installed last month, his "uncles" at the clubhouse who are big and scary but actually nice.

Hannah sits in the passenger seat, quiet. I glance over and see tears in her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." She wipes her face. "Just thinking about that little girl waiting for us. Wondering if anyone will actually show up. If anyone will actually want her."

"We want her."

"I know we do. But she doesn't know that yet. She's spent three years learning that adults leave. That homes are temporary. That wanting things is dangerous." Hannah's voice breaks. "She's us, Wesley. She's both of us at three years old."