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She wrote it down. That was it. No magic moment.
Just paperwork and hope.
Laughter and crying echoed down the hall.
Karen led us into a playroom.
“I’d like you to meet someone,” she said.
That’s when I saw Sophie.
She sat at a tiny table in the corner, legs swinging, coloring flowers with a broken yellow crayon. Her hair fell into her face; she puffed it away with a little annoyed huff.
“That’s Sophie,” Karen said quietly. “She’s four.
Her mother surrendered her rights. Father is listed as deceased. No major medical issues in her file.”
That last line felt like nothing then.
Daniel crouched beside her.
“Hey,” he said softly.
“What are you drawing?”
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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