“Her two-year-old son survived the accident.”
My mind struggled to catch up.
“Leo?” I whispered.
“Yes. He’s here at the hospital.”
I drove there faster than I ever had in my life.
When I arrived, the nurse led me to a small hospital room.
Leo was sitting on the bed, his tiny legs swinging slightly. His brown curls were messy, and there was a small bandage on his forehead.
He looked up at me with wide, confused eyes.
He didn’t understand what had happened yet.
He didn’t know that his mother was gone.
I sat beside him and held his little hand.
And in that moment, I knew what I had to do.
Nora had no family. She had once told me the father had died before Leo was born, though she never shared details.
Leo had no one.
Except me.
That same afternoon, I began the adoption process.
The first year was the hardest.
Leo cried for his mother almost every night.
Sometimes he would wake up calling, “Mama?”
And every time it felt like my heart was breaking all over again.
I wasn’t a parent. I had no idea what I was doing. I burned dinners, forgot school forms, and once sent him to daycare with two different shoes.
But slowly, we figured it out together.
We became a team.
Over the years, Leo grew into a bright, thoughtful boy.
He loved drawing, soccer, and asking endless questions about the world.
He also had Nora’s smile.
And that smile made me feel like I had kept my promise to her.
Leo became my entire world.
