When Daniel and I met her, she barely spoke. She answered questions politely.
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.
« Your room is painted light green, » I told her. « We thought you might want to choose something else later, but we didn’t want it to feel too empty. »
She nodded.
Daniel, from the driver’s seat, said, « And if you hate green, we promise we can paint it any other color that you love. »
