We Adopted a Quiet Boy. One Night, My Husband Screamed: ‘We Have to Return Him’

After a decade of heartbreak and infertility, we finally decided to adopt. My husband, a high-powered businessman, left the logistics to me—but when I showed him the photo of a quiet 3-year-old named Sam, something shifted. We brought Sam home full of hope, and my husband even offered to give him his first bath to bond. But the moment the bathroom door closed, everything changed. A crash. Shouting. Then Mark burst out, pale and shaking, and screamed, “WE HAVE TO RETURN HIM!” I ran toward the door, heart racing, but Mark stopped me with a hand on my shoulder. His fingers were shaking…

For ten years, I dreamed of hearing little feet running down our hallway. Of baby giggles echoing off the walls. Of becoming a mother.

We tried everything—fertility treatments, hormones, endless prayers whispered in sterile clinics. Every month, the same disappointment. My husband, Mark, a senior executive constantly on the move, told me to give it time. But time wasn’t kind. Eventually, we began talking seriously about adoption. He was supportive, but understandably distracted. Boardrooms, deadlines, flights—his world ran on calendar alerts.

So I took the reins. I called agencies, filled out forms until my wrists ached, and stayed up late scrolling through profiles of children needing homes. We originally wanted an infant. So did everyone else. Waitlists stretched into years.

Then I saw him.