I leaned forward and wrapped both arms around him, pulling his small body tight against my chest while minding my surgical scar.

“There’s nothing broken inside you, my sweet, sweet boy,” I whispered into his hair, my own tears soaking his collar.

“The only thing broken in this house was your parents’ courage, because we should have celebrated your adoption story every day of your life.”

He leaned his head on my shoulder for a few quiet moments and let out a long, shaky sigh that seemed to let go of a little of his fear.

“Did you love me back when I was just a tiny four-month-old baby, Mom?” he asked suddenly, looking up with big, hopeful eyes.