Page 90 of Drop the Mitts

Her shoulders lowered by a fraction, and then she turned her attention back to the room. “This conversation is informal. Nothing you say here will be used in court. We’re not here to strategize or talk legalities. We’re here to talk about Hope.”

Brady’s jaw flexed as he looked down at the baby against his chest. “That’s all I want.”

“Same.” Jenna dropped onto the couch. Country sat beside her and motioned for everyone else to find a seat.

Amey and Elodie sat on the loveseat, and Polk gave Brady the rocking chair. Amey swallowed hard, her knuckles white around the tissue in her hand.

“I’m twenty-two,” Amey started. “I don’t even know who I am. I barely have a place to live. My parents stopped talking to me after I chose adoption. Then when I found out Brady had come home and he didn’t know—everything you said, it scared me. I thought if I fought for her, I could fix it. If there was a problem in the case, I wouldn’t have to pay for my own lawyer—” Her voice broke, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

Brady cleared his throat. “You could’ve told me that.”

“You could’ve not yelled at me over the phone.”

They stared at each other, past and pain written into the lines of their faces.

André nodded to Polk, who was still leaning against the back wall. Polk gave him a knowing look and moved to Brady’s side, clasping a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Here’s the thing. You two made a beautiful little girl, and we all love her, which means we love you. So. You have people now. You might not have chosen this family, but you’ve got it.”

Amey blinked like a bird that hit the window.

Brady looked stunned. He looked back at Hope in his arms. “I’ve been thinking a lot. Since I found out about her. I don’thave my shit together, you know? But the idea of not being in her life—” His voice cracked.

Jenna stepped forward. “That’s not even a question. You want to be in her life, you’re in it.”

Grace scribbled notes on her pad. “An open adoption isn’t a legal requirement. It's a mutual agreement between the adoptive parents and the birth parents—one that’s built on trust, not enforceable by the courts. But itcanbe formalized through something called an openness agreement.”

She looked to Amey. “That means you can choose to be part of Hope’s life—letters, photos, visits—whatever’s agreed upon. But it has to be what’s best for her, not what’s easiest or most comfortable for us.”

Brady shifted Hope in his arms as her eyelids began to droop.

Grace continued. “These agreements can be flexible. They evolve as the child gets older. Maybe it starts with a few updates a year. Maybe someday, it’s birthdays and school concerts. But the foundation is respect. For the adoptive parents and for each other.”

She turned to Amey, gently. “You’d still have a place. Not as a co-parent, but as someone who loves her. Someone who matters. If that’s something you want.”

They sat in silence for a moment, and André prayed for some sign of resolution. They all knew this plan wasn’t foolproof. It wasn’t result oriented. Looping Brady in was the right thing to do, but it also could mean Hope leaving Country and Jenna forever.

Country cleared his throat. He hadn’t said a thing about Hope or the adoption since they’d arrived earlier. But now, with everyone looking at him—Hope curled in her father’s arms—he spoke up.

“I spent a good chunk of my life not fighting for what mattered most. Not because I didn’t care, but because I wasafraid of hurting more than I already did.” Jenna blinked up at him, eyes wide. “But that’s not how life works. It’s not how family works.”

He let the words hang for a beat, then looked at Amey and Brady directly. “You two made a decision that brought a little girl into this world. A real one. With cheeks like marshmallows and eyes that have sucked up my entire world. And maybe you weren’t ready then. Maybe you aren’t ready now. But me and Jenna? We are.” His voice cracked, but he didn’t back down. “And I’ll tell you this: I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to love her. It wasn’t a choice. It happened somewhere between the midnight feedings and the first laugh and the moment she reached for me with her whole heart like I was the only thing keeping her world from spinning apart.”

A tear slid down Jenna’s cheek. Amey pressed her tissue to her nose.

Country continued, “I’ll fight for that little girl ‘til my last breath. Whether she calls me Dad or not. Whether she lives under my roof or I only get to see her on birthdays and back porches. I’ll fight with everything I’ve got. Because that’s what she deserves. Not fear. Not fighting. Just love.” He let out a shaky breath. “I should’ve learned that a long time ago. But I know it now. And I’m not letting go.”

The room was silent. Jenna reached over and took Country’s hand, and Grace gripped her legal pad like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

After a few moments, Country sniffed and stepped back like he hadn’t just dropped an emotional bomb worse than Gretsky at his 1988 press conference. “We made dinner. So unless anyone wants to cry into cold lasagna, I suggest we eat.”

Jenna huffed a breath that was halfway between a sob and a laugh, wiping her eyes as she stood. “It’s not lasagna. It’s chicken parm, and I made a salad.Don’t forget the damn salad.”

The spell broke, just like that.

People stood, plates were passed, and the scent of garlic and cheese melted over crispy breading filled the warm kitchen. Jenna helped Brady lay Hope in her swing, and they all sat around the table together.

Elodie took a sip of wine and cut a narrow glance at André. “You always make such a mess when you eat pasta.”

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