When I was 23, a doctor told me I had congenital infertility. The dream of becoming a mother, nurtured since childhood, seemed to vanish in an instant. Years later, my husband Stephen and I decided to adopt. He even painted a nursery in our big, empty house, filled with bright walls, soft carpeting, books, and stuffed animals. Shortly after, Stephen had to leave for a month-long humanitarian medical mission. He signed all the pre-approval adoption documents, urging me to trust my heart, and I began the process.
At the orphanage, I met Giselle, a quiet seven-year-old girl coloring a rainbow house for people without homes. From the moment we connected over a purple crayon, I knew she was meant to be ours. Three weeks later, she moved into our home. Our quiet house transformed with her laughter, curiosity, and routines—from breakfast preparations to evening puzzles. She told me about missing her parents, loving pink, and dreaming of having a dog.
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