That simple request carried the weight of every missed bedtime story, every scraped knee I’d kissed better, and every tear I’d wiped away when her biological father had turned away. It was a moment of healing, a bridge to the future we both longed for but never dared to hope would come. Her adoption was more than legal paperwork—it was the affirmation of a bond forged in quiet devotion and unyielding presence. Love, I learned, is not written in genes but in the promise to stay, to protect, to love unconditionally. And from that day forward, I embraced my role—not just as a guardian, but as her true father in every sense that mattered.
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