My husband pushed me to adopt 4-year-old twin boys for months so we could be a real family — when I accidentally overheard his real reason, I packed our bags.

“Look at them,” he said, watching the kids climb and shout. “Remember when we thought that’d be us?”

“Yeah,” I answered.

He didn’t look away. “Does it still bother you?”

I studied his face. There was something raw there—something I hadn’t seen in years.

A few days later, he slid his phone and an adoption brochure across the breakfast table.

“Our house feels empty, Hanna,” he said. “I can’t pretend it doesn’t. We could do this. We could still have a family.”