My husband Camden and I dreamed of adoption after learning I was infertile. Months of paperwork and meetings led us to Nicholas, a shy five-year-old.
Just as adoption seemed imminent, a wealthy couple, the Featheringhams, expressed interest. They flaunted their ability to provide luxury, leaving me doubting.
“We can offer stability, love, and a real home,” Camden countered.
The decision rested with Nicholas. He spent a week with each family.
Our week was marred by mishaps: rain, malfunctioning arcade machines, and ants at a picnic. Yet, Nicholas laughed and held our hands.
The Featheringhams promised vacations and private schools. Nicholas acknowledged their extravagance but chose us.
“I feel like I have a family with them,” he said. “I feel safe, and I like their stories. It feels like home.”
Tears filled my eyes. Love, faith, and simplicity won.
“We had been anxious, doubtful, and afraid,” I realized. “But love, faith, and the small things were enough.” Nicholas wanted family, not wealth.
Camden’s arm wrapped around me. “We’re his family now.”
