There were checks.

There were the proper verifications of who I was and what I could offer a child.

What moved quickly was only what should move quickly when a verified blood relative steps forward for an abandoned child, the emergency piece, the getting-her-out-of-the-facility-and-into-a-loving-home piece.

The rest, the permanent legal reality of adoption, unfolded over the following months at exactly the deliberate pace it should, with a judge and the requisite scrutiny, and I was glad of every bit of it, because I wanted her mine in a way that no one could ever question.

The four minutes in which I signed the intent forms were fast because my heart was fast.