When the Eight-Year-Old Boy We Were Adopting Came Home With Everything He Owned in a Black Bag—Then My Missing Brother’s Watch Fell Onto His Bed
Not competing.
Layered.
He visited Tessa the next summer.
Without us for the entire trip.
I was nervous.
Did not say:
What if he likes them more?
Because that thought belonged to therapy, not an eight-year-old.
