Not until a bright Tuesday morning in December, when Judge Whitcomb signed the adoption decree and looked over her glasses at him.
“Mr. Sterling,” she said, not unkindly, “these girls found the right porch. Do not make me regret believing that.”
Mason’s voice failed him the first time he tried to answer.
“I won’t,” he managed at last.
On the courthouse steps, June and Joy came running the moment the social worker released their hands.
By then they wore matching wool coats and little boots with stars near the ankles. They hit him with enough force to nearly knock him backward. He dropped to one knee and gathered them both, arms locking around their tiny bodies while everything in his chest gave way at once.
“It’s done,” he whispered into their hair. “You’re coming home.”
June pulled back first, eyes huge. “Forever?”
“Forever.”
Joy studied his face carefully, as if checking for cracks. “Really forever?”
He put a hand to each cheek. “Really.”
June leaned in until their foreheads touched. “So you’re our daddy now?”
All the air left him.
For one strange, suspended second, he thought of the man he had been before grief hollowed him out. Then of the man he had been after. Then of Beatrice on that porch with Lena, writing words he would not read until years later.
He heard himself answer in a voice rough with wonder.
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