“I really wish I’d known when I was little like Mason and Hailey, Mom,” Austin had said thoughtfully, running his finger over the gold seal on his adoption decree.

“So do I, sweetheart, with my whole heart,” I told him, holding his hand across the table.

“Can we look through all my baby pictures in the blue album one more time, Mom?” he asked with a shy, hopeful smile.

So we did, going through all forty-three photos from his first year with us and laughing at his messy first birthday cake and his goofy bath-time faces until our sides hurt.

Our progress wasn’t always smooth or easy, because trauma doesn’t disappear overnight just because grown-ups decide to start acting like responsible parents.