Page 89 of No Turning Back
Sam clears his throat, finger hovering over a paragraph. “Wait. This clause. ‘No other children in the home for the first year.’ What does that mean, exactly?”
Nina’s smile does not falter. “It is a standard requirement. For safety and bonding purposes, we ask adoptive parents not to foster or care for additional children during the first twelve months after placement.”
The words drop like stones. I blink at her. “I’m sorry. What?”
She nods, still calm, like she has said this a hundred times.
“But we have two foster kids,” I say, my voice thin.
Sam shifts beside me, his hand pulling back from the page.
Nina folds her hands. “Then you will need to make a choice. Adoption cannot move forward unless your home is clear. It is about stability. For the baby.”
The room hums with silence. The tick of the cheap wall clock, the hiss of the radiator. My chest tightens. I picture Fleur at the kitchen table, colouring outside the lines. Aaron with his textbooks spread across the couch, chewing on his pen cap. Our house is not perfect, but it is theirs too.
Sam looks at me, waiting. My mouth is dry.
I cannot even find the word for what she is asking.
Nina watches us for a moment, then stands. “I’ll give you two a few minutes.” She slips out, shutting the door with a careful click.
The room feels smaller without her. Sam leans back, running both hands over his face.
“Well,” he mutters.
I stare at the folder. My throat burns. “She can’t mean it like that.”
“She meant it exactly like that.”
“So what, we just-” I stop. The word won’t come. “We can’t.”
Sam lowers his hands, looking at me. “Which ‘we can’t’ are you talking about?”
I press my palms flat on my knees, grounding myself. “We can’t give up Fleur and Aaron. That’s not even an option.”
He nods, slow. “I know.”
Silence again. The clock ticks loud enough to make me hate it.
“But then,” I say finally, “does that mean no adoption? Not now? Not ever?”
Sam leans forward, elbows on his knees, eyes on the carpet. “It means not like this. Not if it costs them.”
I bite my lip. Part of me wants to argue, to say we could figure it out, to say maybe the kids would be fine. But the truth sits heavy in my chest. Fleur and Aaron have already been through so much. Can we really take away their home, just because I want a baby.
I whisper, “I wanted this baby.”
Sam’s hand finds mine. His grip is rough, steady. “So did I.” He takes a breath, long and slow. “But we’re not the kind of people who trade one kid for another.”
My eyes sting, but I blink hard. I nod.
We sit there, hand in hand, the folder between us like a door we can’t open.
After a long silence, Sam says, “There are other agencies.”
I shake my head. “We’ve already jumped through hoops for this one. Home visits, background checks, paperwork. Repeating the whole process will take even longer.”
He watches me, jaw tight. Then he says quietly, “Then we don’t give up. It may take longer, but we’ll wait.”
