That turned out to be true.
When Daniel and I met her, she barely spoke. She answered questions politely.
She said she liked drawing, lemon ice pops, and books about animals.
She did not smile much.
But once, when Daniel knocked over a cup of coffee and then apologized to the table like it had feelings, Ava looked down quickly, and I caught the edge of a smile.
That was enough for me.
Six months later, after home visits, classes, forms, more waiting, and one stretch where I thought I might lose my mind from hoping too carefully, we brought her home.
I expected nerves. Maybe tears or silence.
Instead, Ava spent the entire drive staring out the window like she was searching for something she could not name.
I kept trying to talk without pushing.
Continue on the next page:
