We hesitated for a long time to adopt a child. And when all the documents were ready, my husband said he was scared. Hearing this, I thought for the first time about whether we should continue this path…

We tried to have a child for eight years. We decided to adopt. We went through all the checks and met a five-year-old girl. Tomorrow we are bringing her home. In the evening, my husband came, sat in the kitchen, and said, “I’m scared. Let’s wait.” I looked at him and didn’t recognize him. He continued, and I understood…

My husband and I tried to have a child for eight years. We visited all the doctors, underwent procedures, hoped, lost hope, and hoped again. Nothing helped.

When I turned forty-two, I realized it was time to stop. I told my husband I couldn’t do it anymore. He hugged me and said we would cope together.

But six months later, I started talking about adoption. He initially dismissed it. He said it was complicated and that we needed to think about it. I didn’t insist.

A year passed. One evening, he brought up the conversation himself. He said he was ready to try. We began gathering the documents.

The process was long and exhausting. Certificates, checks, commissions, courses for adoptive parents. We went through everything. We got approved and received permission.

A month later, we got a call from the orphanage. They said there was a girl. Five years old. Healthy, calm. The parents had been deprived of their rights. We could come and meet her.

I went first. I saw her — a small girl with dark eyes in a gray dress. She sat on a chair, looking at me cautiously. I sat next to her and started talking. She answered quietly, in monosyllables.

But when I pulled a picture book from my bag, she moved closer. She looked at the pictures and listened. Then she laid her head on my shoulder.

I went home and told my husband, “This is our daughter.”

He nodded. But I could see he was tense.

We visited her three more times. We walked, played, and talked. She got used to us, smiled, and held our hands. The guardians said we could take her in a week.

The day before we were supposed to take her, my husband came home late. He sat in the kitchen, looking out the window. I asked what happened. He paused, then said, “I’m scared.”

I sat next to him. I asked what he was afraid of. He replied, “That I won’t manage. That I won’t be able to love her. That she will always be a stranger.”

I felt everything tighten inside. I asked what he suggested. He said, “Let’s wait. Let’s not rush.”

I looked at him and didn’t recognize him. This was the person who a month ago had said he was ready. Who had visited the girl, played with her, and promised her a home.

I said, “We can’t wait. She’s already waiting for us. She was told that tomorrow mom and dad would come for her. Do you understand what will happen if we don’t come?”

He was silent.

I got up, packed our things. The next day, I went to the orphanage alone.

The girl was sitting on the bed with a small backpack. She saw me, smiled. Asked, “Where is daddy?”

I didn’t know what to answer. I said he was at work and would come later.

We arrived home. I showed her the room we had set up. She looked around, touched the toys, looked out the window. Then asked again, “Will daddy come?”

In the evening, my husband came. He entered, saw her. She stood up, went to him, and held out her hand. He looked at her, at her small hand, at her eyes full of hope.

And he took her hand.

Then he crouched down, hugged her. She hugged him back. And I saw how his face changed. How the fear left.

He looked at me over her shoulder. His eyes were wet. He whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Two years have passed. She is our daughter. He adores her, plays with her, reads her bedtime stories, and takes her to kindergarten. Recently, she called him dad. Not “uncle,” not by name. Dad.

He later told me that that evening, fear overwhelmed him. The fear that he wouldn’t be able to love someone else’s child as much as his own. That he would always feel the difference.

But when he saw her, so small, so helpless, reaching out to him — he realized that love isn’t in blood. It’s in the choice. In the decision to become a family.

Would you forgive someone such doubts at the last moment, or would it be a point of no return for you?

***

We hesitated for a long time about adopting a child, weighing every step and doubting ourselves. When all the documents were ready and only one day remained before meeting the little girl, my husband suddenly admitted that he was scared. I assumed it was just normal nerves. But then he said a sentence that made everything inside me collapse. I asked:
– Why?
Hearing his answer, I questioned for the first time whether we should continue on this path…
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