Page 160 of The Prodigal Son

I made it. By some miracle, I was one of the lucky ones, and there’s not a day that goes by when I won’t be eternally grateful and try to pay this mercy back in any way I can.

Letting out a sigh of contentment, I open my side of the car and climb in. My husband waits for me with a soft smirk, and I take his hand in mine, kissing his ring finger.

With that, we drive away from the church that started it all, the rainbow flag flying proudly over the door.

Isaac’s Epilogue

Ten years later

“Sorry I’m late,” I call as I run into the living room. “Got caught up in the studio.”

“Shhh…” Jensen replies as he points to the sleeping toddler currently taking up residence on his chest. Maya doesn’t sleep well at night, and never has since she was placed with us over a year ago, so we take these naps when we can get them.

Tiptoeing closer, I brush her tight black curls from her forehead and kiss her softly. “Damn, she sure is cute,” I whisper.

Jensen pulls back to stare at her pouty lips on his chest. Stroking her back, he smiles with love in his eyes. “She really is.”

The foster system placed Maya with us, along with her brother Milo, fifteen months ago. We’re already in the process of adopting them, but from experience, we know we have a long road ahead.

I made Jensen promise me that after this adoption is finalized, this is it. Four is enough. We have to be done.

Hepromised, but I’m not sure I buy it. We joke about wanting more, but honestly, seeing him as a father is compellingenough. I’d give him a hundred kids if he wanted them. When I see him with ours, I know he was made for this. I regret that he didn’t get a sooner start, and I often think about how close we came to never having this.

But I won’t look back in fear. I only look forward in gratitude.

“Da-da, sit down!” Milo calls. “We’re almost ready!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” I say as I toss a stuffed animal off the couch and plop down across from Jensen.

An old floral sheet hangs from a rope strung across the living room. Behind the sheet, ten-year-old Sami and five-year-old Milo are whispering frantically to each other.

Milo sticks his head out with a bright smile. “We’re almost ready.”

Jensen and I laugh before I glance around the living room and notice someone is missing. “Where’s Maddox?”

“Where do you think?” Jensen replies, turning his eyes up to the second floor of the house.

I rise from the couch and start toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”

“Good luck,” Jensen replies with a smirk.

When I reach the second level, I turn down toward Mad’s room at the end of the hall. We had this rustic farmhouse built eight years ago. It was far too big for the two of us, so we made quick work of trying to fill it.

Over the years, we’ve housed and cared for dozens of kids who’ve come and gone. Even for a short time, I wanted to give them a happy home full of laughter, music, family, and love.

Shortly after we started fostering, they placed Sami with us. She was a bubbly little girl that my mother says is just like me when I was little. When she became eligible for adoption, we couldn’t file the paperwork fast enough. She belongs with us.

It was a while later before we fostered again. The two years when it was just the three of us were so special. Our family was new and being fathers was the greatest feeling on this planet.

We opened our family again when Sami turned five, and that’s when we got Maddox.

“Incoming,” I say after knocking on his door. I press it open to find an empty bedroom with the latest emo band blaring on the speakers. “It smells like body spray and Doritos in here,” I call, but there’s no reply. That’s when I notice the open window and the cool breeze blowing into the room.

Peering my head out, I find fifteen-year-old Maddox sitting alone on the slanted roof with a look of determined bitterness on his face.

“Hey, kid,” I say softly.

“Don’t tell Dad I’m out here,” he mutters indignantly.

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