Ultimately, it wasn’t a straight line or easy answers that made them parents; it was steadfast love, shown up close, on the hardest day, and every day after. They knew early on that pregnancy would put her health at risk, so they kept circling back to one path that felt right: adoption. In January 2021, they signed with Angel Adoption, hoping, quietly, that by the end of the following year, they might be parents. They had no idea how fast things would move, or how often their hearts would rise and fall.
Soon after joining the program, the phone rang: their profile had been chosen, along with three others. Nerves spiked, but with guidance from their coordinator, they started a gentle text thread with the expectant mother. She preferred texting, answered slowly, and carried a lot on her shoulders. They sent a kind check-in every few days so she knew she wasn’t alone. Then the messages stopped. Weeks slipped by. Angel suggested closing the file, but said they could pick up where they left off if she resurfaced. They told themselves it probably wasn’t meant to be, hoping the letdown would hurt less.
They still tracked the calendar in their heads, counting the weeks until her due date, while wishing to be chosen by someone new. One evening, half-watching a movie, the phone lit up. It was her. They had never spoken by voice, but the conversation flowed. She hadn’t made a final choice yet; there were still families in the running. When she invited them to visit, they said yes and drove to Arkansas without a second thought. They met at her favorite restaurant and talked for hours. The next morning, they were welcomed into her mother’s home, where warmth and support made everything possible. After the visit, she called Angel and officially chose them. The high was dizzying. Their baby was due in September 2021, and she planned to deliver in Texas near family. “Go home and pack,” she told them. “I think the baby’s coming early.”
Then the silence returned. Calls stopped. Texts were short or didn’t arrive. Angel and the attorney couldn’t reach her either. On Tuesday, August 17, the news landed like a stone: she no longer wanted to pursue adoption. She was at work when the call came, and broke down in her car, sobbing as she told her husband. That night, they closed the nursery door on the baby things and clung to each other. Despite their grief, they sent the expectant mother a message saying they were still rooting for her, no matter what she chose.
Two days later, Thursday, August 19, Angel called again: the baby had been born, and the mother wanted to move forward with adoption. Shock. Relief. Fear. Without even checking with her husband, she blurted “Yes,” because their hearts had never really let go. Their attorney warned of complications and outside factors that could derail everything. The hospital placed a hold on the baby and gave them until Monday to figure things out. They had two choices: stay home and protect themselves, or fly to Texas and fight for this child. They packed and went.
They spent the weekend in a hotel near the hospital while the birth mother dealt with her own medical issues. When they finally met with her, questions about the open adoption surfaced. She needed to trust them; they needed to show her they were safe. She was scheduled to sign at 11 a.m. on Monday. A long conversation followed, and she left unsure, maybe leaning toward parenting. The hospital, short on rooms, was preparing to discharge the baby to “anyone,” and the limbo felt unbearable. They told their attorney they could accept either decision, parenting or adoption, but they couldn’t keep floating.
Hours passed. A text came from the attorney: it didn’t look like she would sign; the attorney was on her way to talk. The couple sat in the hospital garden, crying, believing they would go home empty-handed. Then the phone rang again. The birth mother had signed her rights. CPS would close the case. Their attorney hugged them and asked, “Do you want to meet your daughter?” They walked into the room. The birth mother placed the baby, tiny, honest, and warm, into her arms.
He hugged the woman who had just made them parents. She handed the baby to him and embraced the birth mother, both of them crying for different reasons and the same one: love. For the first time, their tears were happy. They named her Rohen, a name they had always loved. The birth mother had called her Hannah; with deep respect, they asked her to choose the middle name. She picked Hanna: two families, two names, one child loved from both sides.
They finalized the adoption in Texas when Rohen was six months old and met her birth mother in town. The relationship is open, built on care and honesty. They send photos often. They know they asked a woman to trust them on the hardest day of her life and do not take that trust lightly. Looking back, they sometimes wondered if they said too much or not enough, if their honesty slowed things down. In truth, this was the exact road they were meant to travel, and they were strong enough for it. Stronger still was the courage of Rohen’s birth mother, whom they hope Rohen will always know as a bonus mom. They began this journey because pregnancy wasn’t safe, but they became a family because three people chose love over fear, again and again, through every twist and turn.
