Joshua greeted them beside the car with excitement.
“We bought matching pajamas for you both,” he announced proudly.
That night, they flooded the bathroom during bath time, splashed water everywhere, and turned our peaceful house into complete chaos.
And for the first time in years, our home sounded alive.
Laughter echoed through every room.
For weeks, life felt magical.
Pancake dinners.
Bedtime stories.
LEGO castles scattered across the floor.
Two frightened little boys slowly learning to trust us.
One night, after another exhausting day, I sat beside their beds listening to them breathe softly in the dark.
Earlier, William had cried over a missing toy while Matthew refused to eat dinner.
As I tucked the blankets around them, Matthew suddenly opened his eyes.
“Are you gonna still be here tomorrow?” he whispered nervously.
My heart shattered.
“Always,” I promised. “I’ll be here every morning.”
William rolled toward me clutching his stuffed bear.
For the first time, he reached for my hand.
And somewhere in that moment, I became their mother.
But while the boys were growing closer to me…
Joshua was drifting away.
At first, it was subtle.
He started coming home later and later.
“Long day,” he’d mumble without meeting my eyes.
He still smiled at the boys during dinner, but afterward he disappeared into his office and shut the door.
I became the one cleaning spilled juice off the floor.
Comforting tantrums.
Handling nightmares.
Meanwhile, Joshua buried himself behind phone calls and glowing computer screens.
One night, after a particularly difficult evening, I finally confronted him.
“Josh… are you okay?”
He barely glanced up from his laptop.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
