We Adopted a 4-Year-Old Girl — Just a Month Later, My Wife Demanded, ‘We Should Give Her Back’
Adopting a child had always been part of our plan. My wife, Laura, and I had struggled with infertility for years, and after much discussion, we decided to give a home to a child in need. When we met Ava, a quiet but bright-eyed 4-year-old girl, we felt an instant connection. She had been in and out of foster homes, never truly settling in one place. We knew we could give her the love and stability she deserved.
For the first couple of weeks, things seemed to be going well. Ava was shy, hesitant, but she slowly started to open up—especially to me. She followed me around the house, giggled when I made silly faces, and clung to my hand whenever we went out. I thought we were making progress.
But then Laura began to change.
She withdrew from Ava, avoiding bedtime routines, skipping playtime, and making excuses whenever I suggested family activities. I noticed the way she would look at Ava—almost resentful, as if she were a stranger in our home rather than our daughter.
Then, one night, Laura dropped the bombshell.
“We should give her back,” she said coldly as we sat in bed.
I stared at her, thinking I had misheard. “What? Laura, she’s our daughter.”
Laura shook her head, her expression hard. “I thought I could do this, but I can’t. It doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel… connected to her. It’s like she’s not ours. I don’t think I can love her.”
My heart pounded. “She’s a child, Laura. She’s just starting to trust us. We can’t just give up on her.”
Tears welled in Laura’s eyes. “I didn’t expect it to be this hard. I thought I would feel something by now, but I don’t. And the way she is with you—she adores you, but she barely looks at me. Maybe she’s not meant to be our daughter.”
I was furious, heartbroken. Ava had been abandoned before—left behind by people who had promised to love her. I couldn’t let that happen again.
That night, I slept in Ava’s room, holding her tiny hand as she slept. I knew in my heart that I was already her father, no matter what Laura felt.
Over the next few days, Laura’s distance grew. She barely spoke to Ava, and when she did, it was forced and awkward. Then one evening, she told me she was leaving. “I need time,” she said. “I can’t be her mother.”
Laura packed a bag and walked out the door. I watched as Ava played on the floor, blissfully unaware that the woman who had promised to love her had just walked away.
It’s been a year since that night. Laura and I divorced, but I never once considered giving Ava back. She is my daughter—my whole world. And every time she looks up at me with her big, trusting eyes, I know I made the right choice.
