I sat on the edge of my bed, hands locked between my knees, staring blankly at the floor. The air in the room felt still, too quiet—like it was holding its breath for what was about to happen. My heart beat slower than usual, but heavier. Amilia… my new mom? The word echoed again and again in my mind, unfamiliar and fragile, like porcelain I was too scared to hold.
Could I really call someone "Mom" again?, can I really accept Amilia as my mom ?
The door creaked open. I didn't look up right away until Jessica's voice gently pulled me back to the present.
"Hey, Mia. It's time," she said with a small smile, her eyes soft but laced with unspoken excitement.
I nodded slowly and stood up, feeling the weight of what was about to happen press against my chest. My feet moved like they knew the way, but my heart dragged behind. Last night Amilia, mentioned tomorrow was the day, I'll officially become her daughter…, she said she we would be going to " Adoption office" , the place were all the formalities would be done and completed.
Outside, Amilia was already waiting, dressed in a soft beige jacket and a glowing look in her eyes. When she saw me, she opened her arms without saying a word. I stepped into her embrace, letting her warmth settle the storm in my chest—just a little.
Colonel Grant stood by the car with his arms crossed, his face unreadable. Beside him, his mother—calm and collected as always—gave me a small nod. No judgment, no pressure. Just quiet strength.
As we got into the car, Amilia sat beside me, holding my hand tightly. Grant scoffed from the driver's seat.
"All this drama over a girl we barely know," he muttered, more to himself than to us.
Amilia didn't even flinch. She held my hand tighter.
The adoption office sat quietly at the edge of the district—a crisp white building with tall, glassy windows and a silver plaque that read *"Child & Family Services."* It looked official, maybe too official. The kind of place where lives were quietly rearranged. Inside, the air smelled of paperwork, sanitizer, and freshly polished wood. Families came and went—some wearing warm smiles, others leaving with heavy eyes and stiff shoulders. I kept wondering why. What exactly happened behind those doors to bring such different outcomes? And which one would we be?
The waiting room was quiet, almost too quiet. Rows of metal chairs lined the space, their seats covered in blue fabric to match the pale blue walls. The floor was tiled in white, and the whole place had a sterile, chilly feel that made me sit straighter than usual. I was sandwiched between Amilia and Grant's mom, both of whom kept glancing down at me with gentle, unreadable expressions. Grant sat several chairs away, his arms folded and his face locked in that familiar scowl. I tried to steal glances at him now and then, but every time our eyes met, he'd glare back like I was the problem.
One by one, families were called into the back rooms, and the seats around us slowly emptied. Then finally, a woman in a sky-blue maternity gown stepped forward, holding a clipboard and calling out our names with a practiced smile. Her tone was warm, but her eyes felt like they'd done this a hundred times.
"Right this way," she said, guiding us through a frosted glass door.
Grant trudged behind us, his footsteps heavy with reluctance. His mother stayed in the waiting room, nodding reassuringly as we passed.
Inside, the interview room was simple—two chairs across from a large wooden desk. The woman gestured for us to sit, and we did, the quiet click of chairs against tile echoing louder than expected.
And just like that, it began.
"Good afternoon," the woman behind the desk said, adjusting her glasses. "Adoption process for Mia and Amilia Grant, with Colonel Refdren Grant—correct?"
"Yes," Amilia replied, her voice calm but steady.
What followed felt like a blur—form after form, signature after signature. I sat there watching Amilia sign everything with such confidence, her hand moving swiftly across the papers. Every now and then, she glanced at me with a soft smile, one that told me everything would be okay. I didn't understand all the legal stuff they were saying, but the warmth in her eyes said enough.
Colonel Grant also signed a few documents, though his attention seemed… elsewhere. I noticed the strange look he gave the woman attending to us—something between a smirk and a leer—and he kept clicking his tongue as he stared at her. It made me uncomfortable, but I said nothing.
Finally, the woman at the desk looked up and said, "Alright, about eighty percent of the process is complete. Now, I'd like to have a private conversation with both of you. Mia, would you mind stepping out for a few minutes?"
She gestured to another woman standing nearby, who offered me a polite smile and motioned me toward the door. Amilia gave me a reassuring nod, mouthing the words *"It's okay"* as I stood up to leave.
Outside, I sat in the waiting area, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my dress. The woman who had escorted me out tried to start small talk, but I wasn't listening. My mind was fixed on the door, on the hushed conversation happening behind it. What were they talking about? Why couldn't I be in there too?
Then, after what felt like forever, the door opened.
Amilia stepped out first, her face bright with a smile. She walked straight to me and knelt down to my level.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," she whispered gently. "It's going to be just fine."
The woman beside me gave a small nod, then led me back into the office.
My heart thudded in my chest. This was it.
There I was — face-to-face with the interviewer. My palms were sweaty, and it felt like my heart was about to explode right out of my chest.
"Dear… don't be scared," she said gently, her tone warm and reassuring. "I just want to ask you a few questions, that's all."
I gave a small nod, still unable to steady my breathing. She offered me a soft smile before continuing.
"How old are you, dear?"
That question again. The one I never have an answer to. How do I respond to something I genuinely don't know? I kept staring at her, hoping the silence would somehow explain it better than words could. But I knew I had to speak. If I didn't, she'd ask again.
"Ma'am… I don't know," I whispered.
She tilted her head slightly, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Hmm… I see. It seems you've had a rough past. That's okay," she said, her voice still calm. "Can you tell me anything about it? Maybe something that happened before Miss Amilia found you?"
The question slammed into me like a freight train. My heartbeat thudded louder in my ears. My fingers trembled. What could I possibly say? I couldn't tell her the truth. I couldn't tell anyone. What if she found out what I did… what I truly am? No—no, I can't go there.
Then, I heard it.
That voice.
That twisted, cruel laugh that echoed inside my head. Cold and sharp like ice. My body stiffened. The laughter grew louder, closer, wrapping around my mind like chains.
"No… stop it…" I muttered, the words barely leaving my lips.
"Kill her, Mia…" the voice hissed. "She'll find out. You have to finish her."
I shot up from the chair, panic crashing through me. My breathing quickened. My eyes darted wildly as a cruel smile tugged at the corners of my lips. My hand reached for the chair—ready to lift it, ready to—
"Mia, dear… are you okay?"
Her voice snapped me out of it.
I blinked. She was still seated calmly in front of me, her eyes filled with concern. I looked down—my hands were empty. I looked around the room. Nothing had happened. No attack. No chaos.
It wasn't real.
It was all in my head.
I swallowed hard, my body still trembling as I slowly sat back down. The voice was gone—for now. But its presence lingered like a shadow.
"Y-Yes ma'am…" I mumbled. "I'm okay."
"I… I can't remember anything, ma'am."
She studied me closely. "Are you sure?"
"Yes," I nodded.But deep down, I knew that wasn't true.
She leaned in slightly. "Okay then… do you really want Amilia to be your mother? Do you want to accept her as your mum?"
I sat in silence for a moment. Was I truly ready for this? For someone new to fill that space in my life? I glanced at the woman again… kind eyes, warm smile. Something in me softened.
"Yes… I want her to be my mum," I said quietly but firmly.
"Are you sure?" she asked again. "You're not under any pressure, are you?"
"No," I said, more clearly this time.
"Alright then," she said with a small nod, then gestured to another woman beside her. That woman stepped out briefly and returned with Amilia and Colonel Grant.
"There's only one final formality," the woman said, looking at Amilia, "and then—she's officially your daughter."
Amilia's face lit up with joy. She rushed to me and wrapped me in a tight, trembling hug. The papers were handed to her—she signed quickly, her hand slightly shaking from excitement. Grant signed next, more reserved but compliant.
"Congratulations," the woman said warmly.
As we stepped outside, the sun was already casting its golden hue across the sky. Grandma—yes, I guess she really was my grandma now—gave me a soft pat on the head, her smile gentle and proud. We all made our way to the car.
The ride home was quiet—not heavy, not awkward—just… peaceful. Amilia reached for my hand again, and this time, hers didn't shake.
Later that evening, we sat together in the garden, bathed in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. Amilia held a cup of tea close to her lips as she spoke.
"You know," she began, voice calm and steady, "when I lost Sam… I thought I'd never feel anything again. I thought the part of me that could love like that was gone. But then… you came along. And somehow, you brought that feeling back. That ache in the heart when someone matters so much… it scares you." She paused. "And I'm so thankful for that."
I looked at her, swallowing the tightness rising in my throat. "I'm scared," I whispered. "I don't want to lose you too…"
She placed her hand over mine, firm and reassuring. "You won't….."
And under that quiet sky, something between us settled—something real, something new.