He stepped closer, his hands raised in a gesture of appeasement.
“I get it.
And I’m sorry. But Lisa, you can’t let this ruin everything. We’re good together as we are.
Why complicate things with kids?”
“Paul, this isn’t just about Ella. I’m 36. It’s about the family I’ve dreamed of.”
“Lisa, I love you.
Isn’t that enough?”
“Not really. Not in the way I need us to be.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I am.”
“I guess this is it, then,” Paul muttered, heading for the door.
I didn’t stop him.
The life I had imagined with him was nothing more than an illusion.
***
That night, sleep was impossible. I lay awake, my mind replaying every moment with Ella. By morning, I drove to CPS and explained my intentions.
The caseworker warned me of the challenges.
“These processes take time. It won’t be easy.”
“I’ll wait,” I said without hesitation. “However long it takes.”
Weeks passed.
Finally, on Christmas Eve, the call came. My approval had been finalized. Ella was coming home.
When I opened the door to see her standing there, her small face breaking into a smile, the weight of the past months disappeared.
She ran into my arms, hugging me tightly.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Welcome home, Ella.”
That night, we decorated a Christmas tree together, stringing lights and hanging ornaments. Ella became my miracle, the heart of every holiday to come, and the family I had dreamed of for so long.
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