Choosing to Stay
The caseworker informed me that Avery would be going into temporary foster placement since there was no family on record. Without thinking, I asked if I could take her for just one night until they figured things out. The caseworker looked at me with disbelief, noting that I was single, worked night shifts, and was barely out of school myself. I acknowledged all of it, but I simply couldn’t stand to watch a girl who had already lost everything be led away by more strangers. She made me sign several forms right there in the hospital hallway before allowing Avery to leave with me.
Becoming “Daddy”
That one night stretched into a week, which turned into months of background checks, home visits, and parenting classes squeezed between twelve-hour shifts. The first time Avery called me “Daddy” happened in the cereal aisle of the grocery store. After asking for dinosaur cereal, she froze as if she had committed a crime. I knelt to her level and told her she could call me that if she wanted to. Her face crumbled with a mix of relief and grief as she nodded. Six months later, I officially adopted her.
I built my entire life around that child. It was an exhausting yet beautiful reality of midnight chicken nuggets and ensuring her stuffed rabbit was close by when nightmares struck. I transitioned to a steadier hospital schedule and started a college fund as soon as I was able. We weren’t wealthy, but Avery never had to doubt if she would be fed or if I would show up for her. I showed up every single time. She grew into a sharp, funny, and stubborn girl who pretended my loud cheering at soccer games didn’t matter, though she always scanned the bleachers to ensure I was there.
By 16, she had my sarcasm and her mother’s eyes. (I only knew that from one small photograph the police had given the caseworker.)
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