Emily appeared at the top of the stairs, her hands smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her blouse. “I think so, David,” she said softly. Her voice carried a tremor, a mix of hope and apprehension. “What if the child doesn’t connect with us? What if…”
“Hey,” I interrupted, walking over to take her hands. “We’ve talked about this. We’re ready. And if any kid is lucky enough to have you making pancakes for them, they’ll fall in love immediately.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. “You always know how to ease my nerves.”
Sophia peeked around the corner, her big brown eyes curious. “Mommy, can I have pancakes tomorrow?”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Emily replied, bending down to kiss her forehead. But there was a flicker of sadness in her gaze—a quiet longing I’d come to recognize. While Emily loved Sophia as her own, she’d dreamed of the day she’d hear a child call her “Mommy” from the start.

As we drove to the shelter, the car was filled with a tense silence, broken only by the occasional hum of the radio. Emily stared out the window, twisting her wedding ring absentmindedly.