She knew how deeply I missed Lucy.
And I knew she was carrying her own heartbreak.
For eight years, Nora and her husband, Tom, had been trying to have a baby.
They attended medical appointments.
Endured disappointing results.
Watched friends become parents.
And returned home to a house that always seemed painfully quiet.
Sometimes Nora called me after another unsuccessful treatment.
“I don’t understand why this keeps happening,” she’d whisper.
I listened because there wasn’t anything I could say to make it fair.
Eventually, I suggested adoption.
At first, she hesitated.
“What if I can’t love a child who isn’t biologically mine?”
I took her hand.
“Nora, you’ve wanted to be a mother for years. Love isn’t something a blood test can measure.”
She thought about my words for a long time.
Then she and Tom began exploring the adoption process.
Months passed.
There were interviews, paperwork, home visits, and more waiting.
Finally, they learned about a five-year-old girl named Ellie.
