us to ask to be considered.”
I stared at him.
“For what?”
He looked directly at me.
“For her.”
My eyes filled immediately.
“James.”
“I know.”
His voice cracked.
“I know how this sounds.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I probably do.”
He reached toward me, then stopped himself.
“I already told the social worker I’m married. That I would never make any decision without you. That this isn’t something I get to promise on my own.”
I looked through the glass.
The bassinet had been moved closer.
Tiny face.
Dark hair.
Eyes closed.
“I want to apply for her,” James said. “Whatever that process means. Foster placement, guardianship, adoption later if that’s possible. I want to bring her home.”
His voice became quieter.
“If this is too much, tell me, and I’ll never mention it again.”
I laughed once through my tears.
Not because it was funny.
Because I finally understood
