Every family before us had shown interest in four-year-old Josie—until they discovered that adopting her also meant accepting her sixteen-year-old brother, Jace. My husband and I agreed to take them both.
About a month after they settled into our home, their previous foster mother reached out to me with a question I never anticipated.
“They still haven’t informed you why they chose you?”
My husband, Daniel, and I had spent five years attempting to become parents before finally acknowledging that pregnancy likely wasn’t in our future.
It wasn’t due to a lack of desire for children.
We were simply worn out.
Worn out from appointments.
Tests.
Medications.
Hope followed by letdowns.
One evening, after another tough doctor’s visit, I found myself on the kitchen floor in tears.
Daniel joined me on the floor.
For a while, we remained silent.
Then he quietly suggested,
“We still have space in our lives. We could adopt.”
Eight months later, we met Josie.
She was four, with soft brown curls, large dark eyes, and a smile that seemed to emerge cautiously, as if she wasn’t completely certain she was allowed to show it.
She was seated at a small table in the agency’s family room, coloring what appeared to be a purple dog.
Daniel crouched next to her.
“That’s a lovely dog.”
Josie looked up.
“It’s a wolf.”
Daniel nodded earnestly.
“Then that is a fantastic wolf.”
She gazed at him for a few seconds.
Then she chuckled.
In that instant, I felt something change within me.
I know people advise potential adoptive parents not to expect an instant, magical connection.
We had received that warning too.
But the moment I laid eyes on Josie, I felt a deep affection for her.
Then our caseworker, Rebecca, requested Daniel and me to step into the hallway.
“There’s something significant you need to know,” she said.
Josie had an older brother.
His name was Jace.
He was sixteen.
“They’re being placed together,” Rebecca clarified. “We don’t want them separated.”
Daniel glanced at me.
I asked the first question that came to mind.
“Where is he?”
“Down the hall.”
“Then why isn’t he in here meeting us?”
Rebecca hesitated.
That pause indicated there was more to the situation.
“A number of families have expressed interest in Josie,” she said cautiously. “But once they find out that Jace is part of the placement, they reconsider.”
I felt embarrassed for people I had never met.
“Because he’s sixteen?”
“Teenagers are more challenging to place.”
Daniel crossed his arms.
“Does he have serious behavioral problems?”
Rebecca chose her words thoughtfully.
“Nothing beyond what you might reasonably expect from a teenager who has experienced significant instability.”
Then she added,
“Jace understands why the other families changed their minds.”
“And he thinks we will change ours too?” I inquired.
Rebecca was silent for a moment.
Finally, she said,
“I think Jace expects adults to prove that they mean what they say.”
That statement lingered in my mind.
A few moments later, Jace entered the room.
He was tall and thin, dressed in a gray hoodie despite the warmth of the room.
His hair hung over his forehead.
Rebecca introduced us.
Jace offered a single nod.
No smile.
Josie, however, immediately rushed to him.
We spent nearly two hours together that afternoon.
Josie spoke enough for everyone.
Jace mainly provided one-word responses.
Daniel asked him if he enjoyed sports.
“Basketball sometimes.”
“What position?”
“Guard.”
Daniel smiled.
“I played guard in high school.”
For the first time, Jace truly looked at him.
Josie glanced up as well.
Jace raised an eyebrow.
“You played guard?”
Daniel laughed.
“I used to be faster before my knees became eighty years old.”
A small smile appeared on Jace’s face.
At that moment, I noticed Josie observing them.
I assumed she was merely listening.
Later, Rebecca proposed that we all have dinner together during our next visit.
I asked Josie what her favorite food was.
“Mac and cheese.”
I chuckled.
“Of course.”
Then I turned to Jace.
“What about you?”
He looked genuinely taken aback.
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Unless you plan to survive on whatever Josie leaves behind.”
Jace glanced at his little sister.
Josie was already watching us.
“I eat everything,” she proudly declared. “You won’t get leftovers.”
Everyone laughed.
It felt entirely normal.
Perhaps that was why the moment held such significance.
A few weeks later, Rebecca called us.
The placement was proceeding.
Soon, we brought both children home.
Josie cried the first night.
And the second.
And again a few nights later.
Sometimes she woke up screaming for Jace.
Before Daniel or I could even reach her room, Jace would already be standing beside her bed.
“I’m here,” he would say. “You’re okay.”
He never mentioned that Daniel and I were nearby too.
I noticed.
I tried not to let it hurt.
Then one morning, Josie woke before Jace.
Instead of going to his room, she wandered into ours.
Without asking, she climbed into bed between Daniel and me and promptly fell back asleep.
A little later, Jace appeared in our doorway.
He halted when he saw her.
For a moment, he just stood there.
Then, instead of calling Josie back to him, he quietly walked away.
Jace was much harder to read.
He was polite.
Almost overly polite.
He never asked for anything.
He ate whatever I prepared.
He cleaned up after himself.
His bedroom was always unnaturally tidy.
After about a week, I realized why.
He hadn’t unpacked.
His clothes remained in two duffel bags.
His books stayed in his backpack.
His shoes were lined up beside his suitcase.
One afternoon, I said,
“You know you’re allowed to use the dresser and closet.”
“Okay.”
But he made no move toward his bags.
I wanted to inquire why.
Something held me back.
I sensed that if I pressed too hard, he would only withdraw even more.
So I stopped mentioning it.
But every few days, I found myself peeking into his room.
The bags remained untouched.
Meanwhile, small pieces of Jace gradually began to appear throughout the rest of the house.
A basketball by the back door.
His favorite cereal in the pantry.
His phone charger permanently occupying an outlet in the kitchen.
Everywhere except his bedroom, he was starting to leave signs that he lived with us.
His room still resembled a place he might abandon at any moment.
A month went by.
Josie began referring to our house as “home.”
Jace stopped addressing Daniel and me as “sir” and “ma’am.”
Then, one evening at dinner, Daniel told a terrible joke about pasta.
Jace laughed so hard that milk came out of his nose.
Josie erupted in laughter.
I laughed until my stomach hurt.
For a few minutes, no one was being cautious.
No one was studying everyone else’s mood.
No one appeared to be waiting for something negative to occur.
Then Jace reached across the table and snatched a piece of garlic bread from Daniel’s plate.
Daniel swatted his hand away.
“Get your own.”
Jace grinned.
Then he took it anyway.
It was such a small, silly thing.
But something about it made my chest tighten.
For the first time since moving in, Jace was acting like a teenager who anticipated still being at that table tomorrow.
I remember looking around and thinking,
This is starting to feel like a family.
The next afternoon, my phone rang.
It was Marlene.
She had been Jace and Josie’s foster mother before they came to us.
She had called once earlier to check on their adjustment.
I liked her.
She clearly cared for both children.
I informed her that Josie had started preschool and that Jace had joined an after-school basketball program.
“He laughs more now,” I said. “Not constantly, but definitely more.”
“That’s good.”
“And Josie is sleeping through most nights.”
“Good.”
Then I mentioned that Jace had helped Daniel cook dinner the previous night.
Marlene’s tone shifted.
“He actually cooked with Daniel?”
Something about her response made me pause.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Nothing.”
She replied too quickly.
Then silence fell.
Not an ordinary silence.
Something had changed.
“Marlene? Is everything okay?”
“Yes. I just…”
She paused.
Then she asked,
“They still haven’t told you why they chose you?”
At first, I smiled, thinking I had misunderstood her.
“Why they what?”
“Chose you.”
My smile vanished.
“What are you talking about?”
Marlene hesitated again.
“That’s what I thought.”
“What?”
“You need to ask Rebecca why the kids chose your family.”
Before I could ask anything further, Marlene apologized and ended the call.
I stood in the kitchen staring at my phone.
They chose us?
Throughout the entire adoption process, I assumed Daniel and I were the ones being assessed.
Were we suitable parents?
Was our home appropriate?
Were we capable of meeting the children’s needs?
Apparently, the kids had been evaluating us too.
And suddenly, everything about Jace rushed back to me.
The guarded responses.
The watchful gaze.
The bags he still hadn’t unpacked.
When Daniel returned home, I shared Marlene’s call with him.
“They chose us?” he asked.
“Apparently.”
We contacted Rebecca.
After I explained what Marlene had said, Rebecca went silent.
Then she stated,
“I thought Jace had already informed you.”
“Told us what?”
“After your first meeting, I asked the kids how they felt about your family. Jace came back to me and said they wanted to be placed with you.”
Daniel and I exchanged looks.
Jace had hardly spoken during that initial meeting.
“He specifically requested our family?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Rebecca paused.
“I think that’s something you should discuss with Jace.”
After the call ended, my thoughts went straight back to his bedroom.
The unopened bags.
The suitcase against the wall.
Jace had specifically requested to live with us.
So why had he spent the entire month preparing as though he might have to leave at any moment?
That evening, I almost decided against bringing it up.
Then I saw the suitcase again.
What bothered me wasn’t that Jace had kept something from us.
It was the contradiction.
He had apparently asked to come here.
Yet he acted as if Daniel and I might send him away at any moment.
The two realities didn’t seem to align.
After dinner, Josie climbed onto the couch with her coloring book.
Jace was rinsing his plate at the sink when Daniel spoke.
“Hey, Jace. Can we chat for a minute?”
Jace froze.
It lasted less than a second.
But I noticed it.
His entire body seemed to brace for something negative.
“What about?”
“Nothing bad,” Daniel assured him.
Jace’s eyes immediately shifted toward Josie.
That small reaction broke my heart.
Even before knowing what we wanted, his first instinct was to check on his sister.
We sat down at the kitchen table.
I told him about Marlene’s call.
His expression changed.
“Oh.”
“She mentioned something I didn’t grasp,” I continued. “She asked whether you had ever told us why you picked us.”
Jace stared at the table.
“Rebecca also said you were the one who told her you wanted our family.”
“I did.”
“Would you share why?”
His gaze drifted toward the living room.
Josie was still coloring.
Finally, Jace responded.
“Because Josie picked you.”
Of all the reasons I had imagined, that was not one of them.
“Josie?”
I glanced at the tiny girl on our couch.
“She was four.”
Jace rubbed his thumb along the edge of the table.
“Exactly.”
I waited.
“Nobody listens to her about important things because she’s little,” he explained. “They ask her what toy she wants or which cup she prefers. But when something truly matters, adults make all the decisions for her.”
He glanced at his sister.
“So when Josie told me she wanted you guys, I made sure Rebecca listened.”
Suddenly, it all clicked.
Jace had spent a month avoiding asking for almost anything for himself.
But when his little sister desired something, he ensured an adult heard her.
Josie must have sensed her name because she looked up.
“What?”
Jace motioned for her to come over.
She jumped off the couch and squeezed between us at the table.
“Jace says you picked us,” I told her.
Josie nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“Why?”
She immediately pointed at her brother.
“You talked to him.”
I almost laughed.
“That was all?”
Josie frowned at me as if I was missing something crucial.
“Everybody talks to me,” she explained. “They play with me and give me snacks.”
Then her expression turned serious.
“But they don’t talk TO Jace. They talk ABOUT Jace.”
Jace lowered his gaze.
“What did they say?” I asked gently.
Josie answered without hesitation.
“They ask if he’s bad. Or if he gets angry. Or if he could live somewhere else.”
Jace’s jaw clenched.
“One lady said she wanted me,” Josie continued, “but her house was too small for Jace.”
Jace spoke softly.
“After that, Josie wouldn’t talk to her anymore.”
Josie shrugged.
“She didn’t want my brother.”
There was something almost striking about the certainty in her voice.
She leaned against Jace.
“So I stopped caring if people were nice to me.”
Daniel swallowed.
“What did you care about?”
Josie looked directly at him.
“If they were nice to Jace.”
Then she turned to me.
“You asked him what he wanted for dinner.”
She looked at Daniel.
“And you talked to him about basketball.”
Suddenly, I recalled Jace’s surprised expression when I asked him what food he liked during that first meeting.
And I remembered Josie sitting nearby, observing everything.
She wrapped both arms around Jace’s waist.
“Everybody wanted me,” she said.
Then she looked at Daniel and me.
“But I only wanted someone who wanted him just as much.”
For a moment, none of us spoke.
I could barely breathe.
Then I looked at Jace.
There was still one question I needed answered.
“If Josie chose us and you told Rebecca you wanted to come here…”
I hesitated.
“Why haven’t you unpacked?”
Jace became very still.
Finally, he replied,
“Because people change their minds.”
Daniel leaned closer.
“We weren’t going to.”
Jace looked at him.
“You know that now.”
Daniel fell silent.
Jace lowered his gaze once more.
“People always want her at first,” he explained. “Sometimes they think they can handle having me too. Then eventually they grow tired of my presence.”
My throat tightened.
“So I figured I’d wait.”
“For what?” I asked.
This time, he looked directly at me.
“For the moment you decided you didn’t want me anymore.”
The hardest part wasn’t the words.
It was how calmly he said them.
He wasn’t trying to make us feel guilty.
He wasn’t accusing us.
He was simply articulating something he had learned to expect.
And suddenly, those packed bags no longer looked like luggage.
They appeared as protection.
Armor.
A means to ensure he could leave quickly when the adults changed their minds again.
I wanted to assure him we never would.
That he was safe.
That this was permanent.
But I sensed Jace had already heard too many promises from adults.
Words weren’t what he needed.
So instead, I nodded toward the hallway.
“You know the dresser in your bedroom?”
He looked puzzled.
“Yeah.”
“I bought it because someone lives in that room.”
He remained silent.
“The closet too.”
His mouth tightened.
I continued cautiously.
“But I understand now. You don’t have to unpack because I tell you to. Whenever you’re ready, you can use them.”
Jace didn’t respond.
The next morning, his bags remained packed.
They were still packed the following day.
And the day after that.
I forced myself to stop checking.
If unpacking was going to signify something, it had to happen because Jace decided it meant something, not because we pressured him.
About a week later, I walked past his bedroom.
Then I paused.
The duffel bags were empty.
One had been folded and placed inside the closet.
His books were arranged on the shelf.
His shoes were scattered beneath the bed.
A hoodie hung crookedly from the back of his chair.
To anyone else, it probably appeared to be an ordinary messy teenager’s room.
To me, it looked like an answer.
Jace appeared behind me with a bowl of cereal.
He noticed me staring.
“What?”
I glanced around the room.
“You unpacked.”
His ears immediately turned red.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird.”
“You look like you’re about to cry.”
I reached up and wiped my cheek.
“Go eat your cereal.”
A smile appeared on his face.
Then he walked downstairs.
And for the first time since Jace had arrived, there wasn’t a packed bag sitting in his room waiting for someone to change their mind.