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My wife and I thought the hardest part of the adoption was behind us — the paperwork, the waiting, the heartbreak. But just weeks after bringing our daughter home, a single email threatened to tear it all apart.
My name is Eric. I’m 36.
My wife, Megan, had dreamed of being a mom since the day I met her in our sophomore year of college.
I recall walking past her dorm room one day and seeing a baby-name book next to her laptop.
When I joked about it, she didn’t even try to deny it.
“I like to be prepared,” she said. Megan said that with that half-smile she always gave when she was trying to look tough but couldn’t hide her heart.
She began talking about baby names in college.
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