“No, Austin, not in a million years,” I told him fiercely.

“Adoption isn’t like renting a car or borrowing a library book, honey, because the minute that judge signed those papers, you became our son forever, no matter what happens.”

“Even if you have two more babies who look like you and Dad?” he asked, his voice wobbling.

“Even if we had ten more babies, Austin, you’d still be our firstborn son, and nobody could ever change that,” I promised.

“Then why does Grandma think I have to go live in Aunt Joanie’s spare room?” he asked, looking up at me with plain confusion.