The Day I Said, ‘Yes, I Want Her’.620

Fourteen years ago, our lives changed in the most extraordinary way. We welcomed a little girl into our family—a child born in Kazakhstan with warm tan skin, deep brown eyes, and a smile so radiant it could outshine even the heaviest of days. From the moment we saw her, we knew. She was ours. Not by chance, not by accident, but by something greater than us—by choice, by love, by destiny.

Her first family outing is a memory etched into my heart. We sat together in a booth at a bustling restaurant, her tiny hand resting safely in mine. She was new to everything: new to our world, new to our rhythms, new to the simple act of sitting at a table as a family. Her laughter bubbled up like music, drawing the attention of those around us.

And then, a waitress leaned down, looked at her, and asked the question that cut like a knife.
“What?! Didn’t her mom want her?”

For a split second, the air went heavy. I felt the sting of the words, sharp and careless. But then I squeezed her little hand, looked straight at the woman, and answered with all the truth I carried in my heart.
“Yes. I want her very much.”

That moment became a vow. A promise not just spoken, but lived every day since: she is wanted. She is loved. She belongs.

Over the years, she has grown and blossomed into more than we ever could have imagined. She has taught us lessons no book could teach, no lecture could explain. She’s shown us that love knows no color, that family isn’t limited by blood, and that belonging is never about where you came from, but about who chooses you and who stands beside you.

There were days when she struggled with identity, trying to understand her reflection in the mirror—how it was different from mine, different from the world she found herself in. But through it all, she learned that difference does not diminish worth. Instead, it expands it. She grew strong in the knowledge that family is not written in genetics, but etched in the heart.

I’ve watched her confidence bloom. From her first steps into kindergarten to her teenage years now, she carries herself with joy and courage. She laughs freely, dreams boldly, and lives with a heart open to the world. She has become a young woman who knows her value, not because the world has always told her so, but because she has been surrounded by love that insists upon it.

And still, even as she grows taller, even as her hands outgrow mine, I never forget that moment in the restaurant. That tiny hand, that cruel question, that vow. It reminds me of the truth that families like ours must sometimes fight to prove again and again: she is not here because she was unwanted. She is here because she was chosen. Because she is treasured. Because she is exactly where she belongs.

Now, as she steps into her teenage years, full of laughter and life, I hope she carries one truth above all others: she was never a second choice. She was, and always will be, the first.

She is wanted. She is loved.
And she belongs—forever.