When we adopted Bobby, a quiet five-year-old, we hoped that love could heal his past. After years of infertility struggles, Jacob and I were devastated and decided adoption was our path. At a foster home, we met Bobby, a reserved boy with deep eyes that seemed to hold many untold stories. Despite his silence, something in him felt right, and we knew he was meant to be our son.

At first, Bobby remained distant and quiet, but as we showered him with love, he slowly began to open up. On his sixth birthday, at his party, Bobby stunned us with five words: “My parents are alive.” We learned from Mrs. Jones, the foster home worker, that Bobby’s wealthy birth parents had abandoned him during a brief illness, paying to keep the story quiet.

Bobby wanted to see them, so we took him to their mansion. There, he confronted them, asking, “Are you my mommy and daddy?” Realizing their mistake, Bobby turned to us, saying, “I want to stay with you.”

Bobby’s choice solidified our family. Over time, he flourished, calling us “Mommy” and “Daddy.” It reaffirmed that love, not biology, defines a family.