When I got sick that winter, I woke up groggy and aching, only to find a glass of water on the nightstand with a folded note beside it.
After a while, Alan started sitting closer during storytime.
“For when you wake up.”
It was the first time I realized he watched over me, too.
Years passed. Alan turned 12, then 13. The house grew warmer and slightly louder. He hummed while loading the dishwasher, moved quietly through the kitchen. Once, when I sang off-key to Aretha Franklin, he smiled.
That smile undid me. It was the first time I knew I wasn’t just loving him — I was being loved back.
It was the first time I realized he watched over me, too.
People still asked, of course.
“He still doesn’t talk?”
“He’s too old now, isn’t he?”
“Is… something wrong with the kid? Surely there must be. Don’t you want to get him some help?”
I’d smile every time.
“He still doesn’t talk?”
“He doesn’t need to talk until he’s ready,” I’d always say. “He just needs to feel loved. And he just needs to stay.”
And every day, he did.
At 14, Alan began to grow taller than me. I caught him rearranging things I struggled to reach. He never said anything; he just quietly helped. I knew then: he was mine, even if the paperwork didn’t say so yet.
“He just needs to feel loved. And he just needs to stay.”
I filled out the adoption forms the week before his birthday.
When I told him, I didn’t ask.
“If you want me to make it official, my sweetheart, I will. You don’t have to say anything. Just nod, Alan. Okay?”
He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded once.
When I told him, I didn’t ask.
The morning of the hearing, he barely touched his breakfast. Alan’s hands kept fidgeting, folding the napkin into smaller and smaller squares.
“You’re not getting returned, baby,” I said. “I promise. That’s not what this is about.”
He didn’t look up.
“You’re not getting returned, baby.”
“Alan, you’re mine,” I added. “You’re my baby. And nothing about today changes that, other than the paperwork confirming it.”
He met my eyes, just for a second. I saw something there — hesitation, maybe even fear — but he nodded again.
