I’ll Wait For You

When she went to the foster home, and was introduced by the various social workers there to the children, she couldn’t help but notice the social worker assigned to Gina was a little apathetic and cold toward the child.

“Hey, Gina. This nice lady is Elinor. If you behave well, she might adopt you.” Then, in a undertone to Elinor, the social worker admitted that Gina had been returned three times so far due to misbehaving.

“It happens a lot. Prospective parents want to adopt a perfect child, and they aren’t prepared to handle the consequences of a troubled soul. Gina is a hard case for us because she tries it on a lot, when she wants her way.”

Tries it on a lot? Elinor took an instant dislike to the lady, who acted holier-than-thou in her attitude, and seemed to think that she and Elinor were now best friends, in the way she kept touching Elinor and patting her.

Gina, with her face set in a scowl, had stubbornly refused to say anything, and eventually, after fruitless probing from the red-haired social worker, Elinor asked to have a word alone.

The young girl, of course, with her baggy, ill-fitting clothes, and her messy scrawl of hair, didn’t pay Elinor much attention. What reason would she? Other adults had rejected her, shuttling her around like a commodity. Why would this one be any different?

Elinor examined Gina, with a face much older than her youth, and it made her sad. What kind of words did the little girl want to hear?

“I want to adopt you so you don’t have to listen to that lady all day long. She’s not a nice lady, is she?”

At this, Gina raised her eyes to meet Elinor’s. “No. She’s not.”

“She pretends to be.”

Gina su*ked at her thumb. “Yes.” She checked out Elinor for a long moment, not shy or scared. “I don’t think you’ll like me.”

Elinor at first wanted to tell the child of course not, she would be looked after, but then she hesitated. Everyone probably said that to the child. Everyone wanted to make the child believe she would be loved. And everyone had put her back into foster care.

“I might not. You might not like me, either. But we won’t know until we try, will we?”

After a long moment, Gina had nodded. “Okay. If you adopt me, I won’t mind.”

And that was that. One frank conversation with a perceptive child, and a few weeks later, Gina ended up in the newly bought home with her and Kostya.

Kostya had decided to go for his tattooed house dream a little earlier than anticipated, thanks to his marriage to Elinor – and they chose a beautiful white-washed house in the suburbs, about a thirty minute drive from the studio.

It hadn’t been easy, looking after Gina. Thankfully, Catrina came into her own when it came to a prospective grandchild, and she managed the lion’s share of knowledge, letting Elinor understand when to punish, how to punish, how to reward positive behaviour and how not to fu*k up the child’s blossoming intelligence.

Kostya, out of his depth, did plenty of research in his spare time. Gina felt wary of men at first, but over time, she grew quite fond of Kostya.

Three years after adoption, she felt happy calling them mommy and daddy. And with those words, Elinor’s personal demons came to rest. She might find it difficult to have children, but there was also a big, tragic case where many children who were born got rejected by their parents, or fell into a life that harmed or killed them. Thousands of infants started their lives without love, without the chances they should have had.

She had been focusing on one thing, glaring at her malfunctioning body, when another answer lay in front of her. Without everything that had happened – from her mother’s staunch upbringing, to her ex-husband, to meeting Kostya and discovering the underlying issue behind her miscarriages – she might not have discovered true happiness and love. Kostya Vasilev reminded her what being special meant. His love cradled her in darker times.

And in that happiness, she cradled Gina, that strange girl who might have been lost in the cracks that Stolen Heart had risen out of. That little child who might have spent her life gray and sad if no one looked at her and saw what treasures she held.

My daughter, Elinor thought, proudly watching Gina as she poured milk into a bowl. Then she looked at Kostya, who wore an identical expression. Our daughter.

Valentine hopped after Gina, meowing inquisitively and tangling around her legs.

Kostya hugged Elinor. “She’s beautiful.”

“So are you,” Elinor said to him.

“Awh, shucks.” Kostya winked, kissed her on the lips, then compared tattoos and rings together. They matched in every way.

And there were no more nightmares.

The End.