Part 3 — Choosing Them
I couldn’t forget those babies.
I tried.
For days, I told myself they were safe now.
Professionals would take care of them.
Someone would find their mother.
Someone would decide what came next.
None of that stopped me from remembering the way one tiny hand had wrapped around my thumb.
So I asked if I could visit.
One visit turned into another.
Then another.
Soon I was seeing them every week.
Then twice a week.
I learned their different cries before they even had permanent names.
One was calmer and loved being held.
The other seemed determined to inspect everything around him.
One afternoon, after coming home from a visit, I stood in my kitchen for nearly an hour.
Finally, I called Raymond.
“I want them.”
There was a pause.
“What?”
“The twins. I want to adopt them.”
I started pacing.
“I know how that sounds. I’m divorced. I work out of my dining room. I’ve never raised a child, and I’m talking about taking on two babies. Tell me I’ve lost my mind.”
Raymond answered right away.
“You haven’t.”
I stopped walking.
“Ray…”
“You love them.”
My eyes filled.
“That isn’t enough.”
“No. But it’s where you start.”
I sank into a chair.
“What judge is going to look at me and decide I’m the best option?”
“The right one.”
That was Raymond.
He had a way of answering my fear without pretending it wasn’t there.
That weekend, he showed up with legal pads, folders, takeout, and more determination than I had.
We spent hours working through forms.
At one point he tapped a section asking about my support network.
“You’re going to sell yourself short here.”
“I don’t have much family nearby.”
“You have me.”
I looked at him.
“Raymond, they’re asking about long-term support.”
“So write my name.”
“You might get married someday. Have kids. Move away.”
He smiled faintly.
“Put me down, Kim. Uncle. Family friend. Emergency contact. Whatever they need. I’m staying.”
I shook my head.
“You need your own life.”
His expression softened.
“This is my life.”
I thought he was joking.
I didn’t understand those words until twenty years later.
Raymond drove me to every hearing.
He waited through interviews.
He held my hand in the courthouse hallway when my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing.
Then, months after two anonymous babies appeared on my porch, I sat before Judge Marsh while she paged through a stack of papers.
Finally, she looked up.
Her expression softened.
“They’re yours, Ms. Kimberley.”
For several seconds I couldn’t speak.
“Both of them?”
She smiled.
“Both.”
I cried before I even left the room.
I named them Caleb and Noah.
And I cried almost the whole drive home.
This time, they weren’t tears for the family I’d lost.
They were tears for the family I’d found.
