After three exhausting years of paperwork, interviews, background checks, home visits, and endless waiting, the day we had imagined so many times finally arrived.

Our eight-year-old adopted son, Leo, was standing on our front porch.

For years, we had dreamed about that moment.

We had imagined what the first meeting would be like.

We wondered whether he would run inside.

We wondered whether he would smile.

We wondered whether he would call us Mom and Dad immediately or need time before those words felt natural.

We had prepared ourselves for awkward silences, nervous questions, and maybe even tears.

What we hadn’t prepared for was the small black garbage bag sitting in the social worker’s hand.

“This is everything he has with him,” she said.

I stared at the bag.

Everything?

I looked at Leo.

Then I saw it… and instantly realized this was more than just an old belonging.
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