Jacob joined us, and together, we spent the next hour in the playroom. Bobby didn’t say a word, but there was a connection, a spark that I felt. When it was time to leave, I felt a pang of sadness. “We’ll come back and see you soon, Bobby,” I said, giving him a little wave. He watched us go, his eyes following us out of the room.
Over the next few weeks, we visited the foster home several more times. Each time, we spent most of our time with Bobby. Slowly but surely, he started to warm up to us. He would smile a little more, and once, he even reached out and took my hand.
One day, Mrs. Jones pulled us aside. “I think Bobby has really taken a shine to you two. He’s not an easy child to reach, but I can see that he feels safe with you.”
Jacob and I looked at each other, hope blooming in our hearts. “Does that mean…?” I asked, my voice filled with anticipation.
Mrs. Jones nodded. “Yes, I think he would be a great fit for your family. If you’re interested, we can start the adoption process.”
We didn’t hesitate. “Yes, please,” Jacob said, his voice filled with excitement.
The adoption process was long and filled with paperwork, but we didn’t mind. Every step brought us closer to making Bobby officially ours. Finally, the day arrived when we could bring him home.
The first few months were a challenge. Bobby was still very quiet. He would often spend hours in his new room, looking out the window. But we were patient. We read him bedtime stories, took him to the park, and showed him all the love we had to give.
Then, on his sixth birthday, as we were having a small celebration at home, Bobby surprised us. He had been sitting at the table, looking at the candles on his cake, when he suddenly spoke. “My parents are alive.”
Jacob and I froze, our eyes wide with shock. “What did you say, Bobby?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He looked at us, his eyes serious. “They lied. My parents. They’re not dead.”
I exchanged a worried look with Jacob. “Who lied, Bobby? Who told you your parents were dead?”
Bobby’s lip trembled. “The people at the foster home. They said my mommy and daddy were gone, but I remember them. I remember them coming to see me, but then they stopped.”
Jacob sat down beside Bobby. “Do you remember where your parents live? Or what they look like?”
Bobby shook his head. “I just remember they loved me. And they wouldn’t leave me. They wouldn’t.”
We knew we had to get to the bottom of this. The next day, we went back to the foster home and asked to speak with Mrs. Jones. When we told her what Bobby had said, she looked uncomfortable.
