Chapter Twenty -One:THE ADJUSTMENT
Bringing Marcus home was chaos. Beautiful, exhausting, wonderful chaos. He'd been in the foster system since birth—eight months of different homes, different faces, different people who didn't stay. The social worker warned us about attachment issues. About sleep problems. About the long road ahead. She wasn't wrong. The first night, he screamed for three hours. Not cried. Screamed. The kind of soul-deep wailing that comes from somewhere primal, somewhere wounded. Nothing we did helped. Rocking. Singing. Bottles. Pacifiers. He just screamed. At 2 AM, I found Declan in the nursery, holding Marcus against his chest, tears streaming down his own face. "I don't know what to do," he whispered. "I don't know how to help him." I sat beside him. Put my hand on his back. "Neither do I. But
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