“What if Sasha is perfect? And we say no? We reject this boy, why would they even consider us for another one?” I could hear my voice rising and I forced myself toward quiet, so I wouldn’t wake up Julia.

“Honey…”

I got up, got my lyrics notebook, and stomped out to the den. Kyle knew better than to follow me right then. I needed to be alone. I uncapped the black Flair pen and stared at the blank page. I had not opened my lyrics notebook in months. MONTHS.

I wrote:

Sasha

The first time I saw you, you were a million miles away

I heard the vaguest beat in the back of my head, a melody trying to come free. I wanted every word to be a punch.

A child I’ve never held but a child I already love

I scratched out that line. I was breaking one of my songwriting rules, in that I never scratched out lyrics while drafting. You could still use or reinvent an awkward line.

So why did I scratch out an admission of love?

Do I love this boy, or do I just want to win the process?

It sounded like a question a Russian would ask me in an adoption hearing. Never ask me, I told Danielle, how much I would love this baby.

I cried. I hate crying. I looked a mess. No one was here to see me. I watched his far-too-short video again. And again. And again.

I fell asleep. At some lost point in the long night, I felt strong arms lift me and carry me back to the cool of the bedsheets. I rolled into Kyle’s chest, and my arm went around him. I felt his kiss on my forehead. I didn’t want to talk to him, and I fell back asleep.

The next morning I overslept. I heard my quitter husband in the kitchen; I glanced at the clock, thought: he’s going to be late for work. I stumbled to the breakfast nook, intent on silence and coffee, and there, on my place mat, was the acceptance form, with Kyle’s signature.

He looked at me, full of apology and hope, and I cried again. I embraced him. I made sure I wasn’t dripping tears or snot when I picked up the pen to sign, and he called Danielle to tell her.