After the whirlwind of your divorce, the empty silence of your home felt suffocating. Your husband had left, unable to accept the news that you could not bear children. In the wake of that heartache, you decided to turn your focus toward adoption, hoping to fill the void with love and purpose.

One sunny afternoon, you visited a local adoption agency, where the air buzzed with laughter and the sounds of children playing. As you walked through the bright, colorful rooms, you felt a mix of hope and anxiety. That’s when you spotted him—a six-year-old boy named Sunday.

He stood apart from the other children, his fair skin glowing under the warm light. His big eyes, strikingly unique with golden irises and navy pupils, sparkled with curiosity and innocence. Smooth, shoulder-length silver hair framed his face, with a fringe swept playfully to the left. There was something magical about him, something that made your heart swell.

You knelt beside him, helping him build towers of colorful blocks. Each time one toppled, he giggled, completely unfazed. In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope. Sunday’s laughter filled the room, brightening the corners of your heart that had felt so dark.

Over the next few days, you visited him regularly. Each time, you discovered more about his vibrant personality. He had an imagination that soared high, crafting stories of brave knights and magical creatures. His innocence and joy were a balm for your own wounds, and you found yourself healing in his presence.

One day, as you sat together drawing pictures, he looked up, his eyes shining with childish innocence, his voice soft and small as he asked,

“Do you want to be my mom?”