“And you’ll be my daddy forever and always, too?”
“Forever and always.”
“Even when I’m old, like Mrs. Chen?”
I chuckled. “Even when you’reolderthan Mrs. Chen.”
She giggled at the impossibility of that, then grew serious again. “Daddy?”
“Yes, Button?”
“What if the judge doesn’t like me?”
My hands stilled in her hair. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
“What if he thinks I’m too loud or too wiggly or I ask too many questions? What if he says I can’t be your princess?”
The pure vulnerability in her voice nearly undid me.
I set down the brush and turned her to face me, her small hands resting on my shoulders.
“Debbie, I want you to listen to me very carefully. The judge isn’t deciding if you’re good enough to be my daughter. You’re already my daughter, in here.” I tapped her chest over her heart. “And in here.” I tapped my own. “The judge is just making it official on paper. Like . . . like putting a stamp on something that’s already true.”
“But what if—”
I covered her mouth with a forefinger and shook my head firmly. “No what-ifs today, okay? Today is about celebrating our family, you and me, that we choose each other, every single day.”
She nodded solemnly, then brightened. “And Willie Wee chooses us, too?”
That darn frog caught in my throat again. “I think so, sweetie, yes. Willie Wee chooses us, too.”
An hour later, we were dressed and ready, though I’d had to redo my tie three times because my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. Debbie looked like a tiny businesswoman in her flower dress and serious shoes, her hair braided into two perfect plaits that had taken me forty-five minutes to achieve.
“Do I look like a princess?” she asked, spinning in front of the hallway mirror.
“You look like the most beautiful dragon princess who ever lived,” I said, and meant every word.
The drive to the courthouse felt both endless and far too short. Debbie sang songs fromFrozenwhile I gripped the steering wheel and tried to remember how to breathe normally.
This is just a formality, I told myself.You’ve jumped through every hoop, answered every question, passed every inspection. This is your day.
But as we pulled into the courthouse parking lot, all-too-familiar anxiety crept up my spine.
What if something goes wrong?
What if I missed some piece of paperwork, some requirement that threw a wrench into everything?
What if—
“Daddy, your hands are doing the shaky thing again.”
I looked down to find my fingers trembling against the steering wheel. “Sorry, Button. Daddy’s just excited.”
“Me, too! This is the best day ever!”
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I felt some of my tension ease as we walked hand in hand up the courthouse steps. The building was imposing in that way all government buildings were designed to be, slathered in marble and authority and hushed echoes.
Our attorney, Sarah Morrison, was waiting for us in the lobby. She was a kind woman in her fifties who specialized in adoption cases and had walked us through every step of this years-long process with patience and expertise. She’d been there when I first took Debbie in, when I first became her guardian, and she would stand by me today when I finally became her father.
