Imagine opening your heart and home to a young child, full of dreams about the family you’d become. That’s exactly what we embarked on when my husband, Mihai, and I adopted a four-year-old girl named Ioana. We eagerly embraced this new chapter, excited yet a bit nervous about what lay ahead.
A month into our new life, as we settled into being a family of three, Ioana surprised me with something totally unexpected. Sweetly, she looked up at me and said, “Mommy, you shouldn’t put your faith in Daddy.” Her words were both tender and alarming, filled with the innocence of a child, yet carrying an undertone that I couldn’t dismiss.
Bringing Ioana into our lives involved months of meticulous planning, heaps of paperwork, and numerous visits to her home. Despite her shy demeanor, there was a spark in her, a lively spirit that we hoped would flourish with time and love. I was ready to be the mother Ioana deserved, full of warmth and care.
For Mihai and me, becoming parents felt like fate’s precious gift after years of longing and heartache. However, soon into our life with Ioana, I noticed something unsettling. Ioana would often glance at Mihai with an odd mix of fear and wariness, clinging to my side whenever he was near. I convinced myself it was part of her adjustment process, a natural response to so many changes.
As time passed, one quiet afternoon while I folded laundry, Ioana chose to share her secret. Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper from the past, “Do not put your faith in Daddy.” My heart stopped for a moment. The world seemed to pause as I listened to this gentle, innocent warning.
Kneeling down to her level, I asked gently, “Why, sweetheart? What makes you say that?” Her eyes held a slight smile, shadowed by melancholy.
“He’s not who he claims to be,” came her soft reply, carrying the weight of a worry too large for someone so young.
Confused, I probed further. “What do you mean, Ioana? Your father loves you dearly. Did something happen?”
Hesitant, she twisted the fabric of her shirt between tiny fingers, whispering, “He pretends. At the orphanage, I saw him. He was angry.”
A chill washed over me. “Angry? When did this happen?”
Struggling to articulate her thoughts, Ioana continued, “Before you came. He was there. He yelled at the woman who cared for us. He said bad things about me.”
The pieces didn’t fit. There had been no mention of Mihai visiting the orphanage alone. We had believed we went through every step of the adoption process together.
“Sweetheart, perhaps you saw someone else who resembles Daddy,” I suggested, trying to reassure Ioana and myself.
But Ioana shook her head firmly. “It was him. He was scary. I remember his voice.”
I wanted to dismiss it as a child’s misunderstanding. Yet Ioana’s sincerity was undeniable. Later that evening, while Mihai played with Ioana in the living room, I found myself stealthily entering his office. My instincts urged me toward answers.
On his open laptop was a folder labeled “Personal.” Inside, I found emails exchanged with someone at the orphanage. My eyes landed on a message that sent waves of nausea through me:
“Regarding the behavior of Ioana, there are some concerns. Could it be that she is not a good fit? Let’s talk about the other possibilities.”
This discovery struck me like a thunderclap. Mihai, who had seemed so committed to our adoption journey, what reservations did he harbor about Ioana? And why had he kept these discussions hidden from me?
Quickly, I shut down the laptop as Mihai’s footsteps echoed in the distance. Questions churned in my mind, each more urgent than the last. I needed to know the truth behind Ioana’s fear.
Later that night, as Mihai slept, I whispered to Ioana, “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ll protect you.”
Why had Mihai acted this way? And what made Ioana so wary of him?
This revelation was the beginning of a challenging yet pivotal journey. It was clear that discovering the truth was imperative, not just for Ioana but for the future of our family.
