We Adopted a Silent 6-Year-Old Girl — Six Months Later, She Said, ‘My Mom Is Alive and She Lives in the House Across the Street!’

Megan and Alex eventually adopt a quiet six-year-old girl after years of infertility. A single statement from their kid reveals everything they believed to be true just as their new life is starting to settle in.

You begin to believe that the universe is punishing you for something you cannot pinpoint after ten years of trying to conceive.

I have no idea how many appointments we attended.

After the fifth clinic and the seventh specialist’s advice to “manage expectations,” I believe I lost track. As if omitting the word “no” would lessen the blow, they were always so cautious in their wording.

After attempting to conceive for ten years,

You begin to believe that you are being punished by the cosmos.

I knew the layout of waiting rooms by heart. Like someone reading a grocery list, I could enumerate the adverse effects of medications. Even when I wasn’t feeling peaceful, my spouse, Alex, stayed composed. During operations, he held my hand and spoke in whispers all the time.

“Meg, we’re not done hoping. He would answer, “Not by a long shot, love.”

However, we didn’t cry one afternoon when the results of the last test were worse than anticipated. We simply sat at our kitchen table and gazed at one another while clutching our tea mugs like lifelines.

“We’re not done hoping, Meg.”

“I don’t want to keep doing this to you,” I said. “We both know that I am the issue here, Alex. My womb isn’t welcoming.

My spouse put his fingers through mine as he reached across the table.

“That may be so, Megan,” he replied. “I don’t want us to give up on being parents. I believe we should focus our efforts on other options instead of tearing your body to pieces.

For the first time, adoption seemed more than just a backup plan. It seemed like a possibility. It was like opening a window after spending too much time in a stifling room.

“I don’t want us to stop trying to be parents.”

That that week, we began the process.

Adoption is more complicated than just completing a form and bringing a child into the world. Paperwork, medical records, background checks, financial evaluations, and even home inspections are all important. They posed questions regarding conflict, trauma, parenting ideologies and how they varied, and our long-term objectives that we had never considered ourselves.

Teresa, our designated social worker, was a quiet woman who took notes on a clipboard as she moved carefully through each room during the home visit. She stopped by the guest bedroom doorway and smiled kindly at us before leaving.

Adoption is more complicated than just completing out

a form and taking a child home.

“Do up that room,” she murmured. “Make it a room for kids. even if it’s initially only a shell. Megan, Alex, this procedure takes time, but it’s well worth it. Keep going. There will be a happy ending for you.

After she went, we stood for a long time in that empty room. Then Alex turned and grinned at me.

His words were, “Let’s get it ready,” “Even if we don’t know who it’s for yet.”

We installed soft curtains that fluttered when the windows were open and painted the room a pleasant yellow. Alex spent two weekends polishing and sanding a wooden bedframe we acquired at a thrift store until it was spotless.

“Just persevere.

There will be a happy ending for you.

I filled a tiny bookcase with picture books, some from my own youth and others that had small handwritten names inside the covers that I acquired at thrift stores.

The room seemed to be waiting even though it was empty.

They informed us that there was a child we might wish to meet when the call eventually arrived. They only mentioned her name, age, and the fact that she was “very quiet.”

The room seemed to be waiting even though it was empty.

With toys and half-laughs that didn’t quite cover up the weight in the air, the adoption facility was bright and bustling.

A social worker named Dana gave us a tour. She had a clipboard nestled against her chest and was a lovely, compassionate woman. She led us through the activity area, where about a dozen kids were playing, some of them giggling, others working on crafts or tumbling blocks.

We didn’t have any written preferences or a checklist.

It was a bright, busy adoption center.

“We were invited to meet a specific child, but we’re just hoping our hearts will know,” Alex stated to Dana.

“Yes,” Dana said. “I always believe that’s the most effective approach. Nothing should be forced here at all.

However, nothing changed in me as we went from kid to kid, saying kind hellos and smiling a little. They were all lovely and radiant in their own unique ways, but I didn’t experience the attraction I had always thought I would.

Alex then nodded toward the far corner of the room and lightly stroked my arm.

“Absolutely nothing here should be forced.”

“Megan,” he uttered softly. “Look over there.”

I followed his eyes. A young girl clutched a battered gray teddy rabbit while sitting cross-legged with her back to the wall. She wasn’t having fun. She was silent.

She was simply… still.

After saying, “That’s Lily,” Dana’s voice grew weaker. “Teresa felt you might be interested in meeting her. Naturally, she has been here the longest, both inside and outside, and she is six years old. However, “yes.”

She wasn’t having fun. She was silent.

I questioned, “Why?”

“Well, it’s been years since she spoke. Not since the death of her mother. We’ve tried a lot of things, including therapy, but she’s scarred. or experiencing uneasiness when separated. It’s hard to categorize. Although Lily has been placed a few times, nobody has really made an effort to work with her.

We took a step toward her.

“Hi, Lily,” I replied as I carefully knelt before her. “I’m Megan, and this is Alex.”

It’s been years since she last spoke. Not since the death of her mother.”

She tightened her grip on her bunny but remained still.

“Don’t be surprised,” Dana remarked, smiling apologetically at us. “Lily doesn’t… engage.”

However, engagement was not what I was seeking. All I wanted was for her to know we were aware of her. that her silence and presence were acknowledged. and that it was acceptable to simply be.

Alex inquired, “Can we stay a bit?”

“Lily doesn’t… engage.”

We took a seat. She said nothing. She didn’t look away, though.

And that seems to be sufficient.

“I want her,” I said. “I want to give this child a home.”

“Dana,” Alex stated without pausing. “We want Lily.”

“I want to give this child a home.”

Completing the paperwork and bringing her home took three weeks. Throughout the whole ride, Lily remained silent and kept her small face inscrutable while staring out the window.

She entered the yellow room at home and took her time looking around. Her hand touched the bookshelf’s edge. Still holding onto her rabbit, she sat on the bed.

We didn’t think she would speak. She hadn’t even smiled yet, which surprised us. All we wanted was for our girl to feel secure.

Still holding onto her rabbit, she sat on the bed.

After that, there were little successes every day.

She allowed me to brush her hair first, and after I finished, she gave me a purple hair tie. She then allowed Alex to tie her shoes for her. She made eye contact and smiled sweetly as she held my hand for a little while after supper on another occasion.

One night, Lily eventually dozed off without cuddling her rabbit.

But she remained silent the entire time.

A child psychologist visited us. We didn’t mean any damage, but I wanted to rule out anything severe after spending some time studying Lily’s behavior.

But she remained silent the entire time.

“Whatever we find,” Alex replied, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We’ll handle it. However, I want to ensure that she will receive assistance if she needs it.

According to the psychologist, Lily’s quiet appeared to be protective. And that if she so desired, she might talk again. And only if she was genuinely secure.

He grinned and remarked, “The other signs are really encouraging,” “So, I think it’s just a matter of time with little Lily.”

So we bided our time.

And only if she was genuinely secure.

Then six months went by.

Then, one calm afternoon, I was cleaning up in the kitchen after lunch when I looked into the living room and noticed Lily bent over her little art table.

Her crayon was going slowly but purposefully as she drew carefully.

Anticipating the usual—flowers, trees, or the odd neon-colored animal—I strolled over to examine her artwork.

But my breath caught when I saw it.

Then six months went by.

A house was drawn by Lily. It was a two-story house with a big window on the second level, a tree next to it, and a shadowy person behind the glass.

It wasn’t merely a kid’s illustration. It was particular.

I glanced out the front window and up. The house across the street was drawn by Lily.

“That’s a beautiful drawing, my love,” I whispered. “Whose residence is it? Have you previously visited there?

The house across the street was drawn by Lily.

Naturally, she didn’t respond to me.

Subsequently, she turned to face me and touched my cheek for the first time since we initially met.

“My mom,” she murmured. Her voice sounded unsure and harsh. “She lives in that house.”

At first, I didn’t move. My mind was having trouble processing what I had just heard because Lily’s voice had come so softly and without warning. We had been silent for six months.

Suddenly, she had spoken.

“My mom lives in that house.”

I made a call to Alex. When I said his name, my voice broke.

“What is it? “What happened?!” he cried, hurrying down the stairs with a worried expression on his face.

“She spoke,” I said in a whisper. “Alex! “Lily… spoke!”

“Did she? “What did she say?” His gaze expanded.

“Alex! “Lily… spoke!”

I gestured to the sketch Lily was holding. As if nothing had happened at all, she was still coloring the figure in the window, quietly and calmly.

“She said that her mom is alive,” I said. “And that she lives in the house across the street.”

Alex squatted next to us and said, “Sweetheart,” “Could you repeat that? What did you mean? “Your mom?”

“My mom lives there,” Lily repeated.

“What were you trying to say? “Your mom?”

Alex tried to explain it that evening.

Perhaps she’s recalling a different home. Or are you simply daydreaming? Perhaps it’s an echo of trauma.

However, I kept thinking about it. I knew I had to find out for myself when I discovered Lily standing at the window once more the following morning, silently observing the home.

I knocked after crossing the street.

I had to do my own research.

The woman who responded was taken aback by my presence. She had black hair pulled back in a loose braid, eyes that seemed tired yet compassionate, and she was about my age.

“Hi, I’m Megan,” I said in a courteous manner. “I live across the road.”

“I’m Claire,” she replied. “We just moved in a few weeks ago.”

“This might sound strange, Claire,” I went on, nearly trembling. “But… do you know a little girl named Lily?”

“I live across the road.”

“No,” she answered, a little hesitantly. “I don’t believe so. Why?

I paused before continuing. Although Claire had been so courteous, I could see the bewilderment starting to develop in her eyes. I didn’t hold it against her. Standing on her doorway as a stranger, I inquired about a youngster she was unfamiliar with.

“This is… unconventional, I know,” I cautiously continued. “But I really need you to see something.”

Taking out my phone, I discovered the sole picture of Lily’s birth mother that we had. Although it was blurry and taken years ago, her features were clearly visible. I swung the screen in Claire’s direction.

“This is… unconventional, I know.”

“She’s Lily’s birth mother,” I clarified. “Our daughter is Lily. She was adopted by us six months ago.

Claire leaned closer to see the picture while I went on with the story. Her face went a little white.

“She looks just like me, Megan,” she whispered.

I gave a nod.

“She looks just like me.”

“It shook me too,” I concurred. “I mean, when you opened the door. However, I doubt Lily comprehends what she’s witnessing. But perhaps she could benefit from seeing you again? to assist her in distinguishing the… reality from recollection.”

“Of course, if it would benefit your young daughter. It would be a pleasure to meet her. Maybe just tell me what to say.

Lily tensed at first when Claire approached. Claire, however, softly knelt before her.

“I’d be happy to meet her.”

“I’m not your mom, sweetheart,” she remarked. “But I am aware that I resemble her exactly. I’m glad to be your buddy even though I can’t be her.

After giving her a lengthy look, Lily gave her a single nod. She smiled and her shoulders relaxed, but she said nothing more.

Claire started to appear frequently in our life. She would sit with us on the grass while Lily drew, offer cookies, or wave from her porch.

“I’m not your mom, sweetheart.”

Lily gradually started talking again, first quietly and then with greater assurance. She shared with me stories about her bunny, her dreams, and humorous things that happened to her.

She ceased her position by the window.

She grinned as she slipped into bed between Alex and me one morning.

She ceased her position by the window.

She muttered, “I love you, Mom and Dad,” and then she fell asleep right away.

Lily is now seven years old. She occasionally leaves her bunny on the shelf, yet he still sleeps next to her pillow. In our hallway, there’s a photo of the four of us sitting on the front steps: Claire, Alex, Lily, and me.

Not everyone ends up with the family they had hoped for. However, if they are fortunate, they may occasionally receive the one they require.