Page 90 of No Turning Back
I study him, the determination in his voice. A part of me aches at the thought of more months, maybe years, of waiting. But another part of me knows he’s right. We are not finished.
Nina slips back in, smoothing her skirt as she sits. “So, have you come to a decision?”
Sam answers first. “We can’t give up our kids.”
Nina studies us, then nods slowly. “I thought you might say that.” She folds her hands on the file. “Just so you understand, this clause isn’t unique to us. Almost all private agencies have the same requirement. It’s about ensuring the baby gets undivided attention during that first year. They want to minimize disruption, make the transition as stable as possible.”
My stomach sinks. “So that’s it? Door closed?”
“Not necessarily.” Her voice softens, less clipped than before. “The public route doesn’t have the same blanket rule. It’s moreflexible, though it takes longer. You’d be working with the state, not a private agency. More red tape, more waiting. But it can lead to the same outcome. Sometimes even to children who need families most.”
Sam leans forward. “How much longer are we talking?”
“Months, maybe years,” Nina says simply. “There’s no guarantee. But it’s the path for families in your situation who already have foster placements.”
I glance at Sam. His jaw is set, determined. He squeezes my hand under the table.
I whisper, “So waiting really is our only choice.”
Nina nods. “It may be. But sometimes, the longer road is the one that fits best.”
We walk out hand in hand. The cold air stings, our breath puffing white as we cross the lot.
In the car, I rest my forehead against the window. The glass is icy, numbing. Sam starts the engine but leaves it in park. The heater whirs, too loud in the silence.
His hand slips over mine. “I’m sorry.”
I turn my head. His face is shadowed, jaw tight. “Why? It’s not your fault.”
His fingers drum once against the steering wheel, then stop. “If you want…” He doesn’t finish. The words hang, sharp, unfinished.
I pull my hand back, twist in my seat to face him. “You think I’d give up our kids for a baby?”
Sam’s gaze stays straight ahead. He doesn’t answer.
I sink against the seat, arms crossed. “They may be fosters, but-” My voice catches. I shrug, staring down at my shoes. “They’re ours.”
A long pause. Then, the corner of his mouth twitches. “Fleur already has your attitude.”
I snort and shove his shoulder. “Ha. Very funny.”
My thumb rubs over the seam of his jeans. “We’re alright. Right?”
His hand closes firm over mine. “Yeah. We are.”
Sam glances over at me, not smiling exactly, but softer than before. I meet his eyes and hold them for a second longer than usual. We’re both exhausted, but we’re in this together.
Sam starts the car and we roll out of the lot. By the time the highway opens in front of us, we’re talking about the ranch instead of agencies and paperwork.
My husband has become a real cowboy now. Horses, cattle, even a handful of goats. The goats are my favourite. They bleat at him like they own the place.
“When’s the new horse getting here?” I ask.
“Next week,” he says, tapping the steering wheel. “Are you ready to learn how to ride?”
I shake my head, grinning. “I know how to ride. Just not live animals.”
He chuckles, that low sound I love. “These horses were bred to be steady. Calm as they come. They’ll take care of you.”
