The ambulance came quickly, and the hospital called him John Doe, but in my heart he became my little miracle. Fostering him meant changing everything. I cut back my hours, sold what little I had saved, and reshaped my life around midnight feedings and borrowed sleep. Social workers warned me about my age and my income, but love has a way of making room where none seems possible. When the papers were signed and John became my son, my other children barely reacted, offering silence where I had hoped for understanding. It hurt, but it didn’t matter. John grew with a curiosity that filled every corner of our small home, asking questions about stars, soil, and the world beyond our window. Watching him learn felt like watching light return to a place I thought had gone dark for good. Continue reading…
