We Adopted a 4-Year-Old Girl — Just a Month Later, My Wife Demanded, 'We Should Give Her Back'

Simon and Claire finally had the family they had dreamed of... until Claire insisted they return their newly adopted daughter. As Claire’s affection turned into bitterness, Simon faced an impossible decision. For him, there was no doubt. Sophie was his daughter now. He would fight for her, regardless of the price.

The first time I saw Sophie, she ran straight into my arms.

She was tiny, with big brown eyes and curly hair, and she smelled of baby shampoo and fresh grass. She held on to me as if she already knew me, as if she had already decided I belonged to her.

Claire and I had fought long and hard for this moment. Years of failed pregnancies. Years of heartbreak. When we decided to adopt, the waiting seemed endless, filled with paperwork, visits, and interviews.

And now, it was real.

"Are you sure about this?" the social worker, Karen, asked.

She observed us from across the table, a thick folder in front of her. Sophie sat on my lap, fiddling with my wedding ring and humming softly.

Claire’s voice was steady and confident. "Absolutely. She’s ours."

Karen nodded, but her expression suggested doubt. I tried not to take it personally. She was probably used to families promising the world and then failing.

"I believe you," she said. "But adoption isn’t just about love. It’s about promise. It’s forever. This is a girl who has had a rough start. Sophie will test you. She might push limits or break things. It’s not purposeful, but she’s a child. Be ready for that."

Claire reached across the table and clasped my hand.

"We understand," she said.

She then smiled at Sophie, who responded with a bright smile.

"She’s a perfect little angel."

"Okay," Karen hesitated. "Congratulations, Claire and Simon! You are now officially parents."

I felt something change deep inside. This was the start of forever.

I sensed something was wrong as soon as I entered the house.

It was eerily quiet, too quiet, like everything was holding its breath. Suddenly, Sophie ran into me, wrapping her small arms around my legs.

Her voice was shaky.

"I don’t want to leave, Daddy," she whispered.

I looked down and knelt to meet her eyes.

"Leave where, sweetheart?" I asked.

Her lower lip quivered. Tears filled her big brown eyes.

"I don’t want to go away again. I want to stay with you and Mommy."

A cold shiver ran through me. Where had she heard this? And why? Sophie was too young for school and stayed home with Claire. While Claire worked, Sophie played. When Claire had meetings, our mothers watched her.

Who had told her this?

"That won’t happen," I promised. "You’re home now, sweetheart."

Later, Claire appeared in the hallway.

Her eyes were fixed past my shoulder, her arms crossed painfully tight. Her face was pale, almost blank. But her eyes? They seemed distant, as if something inside her had already broken.

"Simon, we need to talk," she said.

"Why is Sophie saying she has to leave?" I asked.

Claire’s jaw clenched.

"Send her to her room. Now, Simon!"

Sophie’s tiny fingers clung to my shirt as if she could hold herself to me. I rubbed her back.

"Sweetheart, go play for a little while, okay? Go to your room. I’ll come for you soon. We’ll have dinner."

She hesitated, her heart pounding against mine.

Then she nodded reluctantly and walked down the hall, shooting nervous glances at both of us before she locked herself in her room.

As soon as her door closed, Claire spoke.

"We have to give her back."

"What?" I gasped. "What did you just say?"

Claire’s arms clamped over her chest.

"I don’t want this anymore, Simon," she whispered. "She’s... she’s ruining everything. My books, my files... my clothes... she even damaged my wedding dress!"

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

Claire exhaled sharply, running her hand over her face as if she was barely holding herself together.

"I saw it earlier. I was feeling nostalgic, I guess... Sophie saw me with it, and she lit up. She called it a princess dress and asked if she could touch it!"

My chest ached at the image of a little girl full of wonder, looking at something beautiful.

"That’s—"

"It’s not the point," Claire interrupted. "The problem is, she had paint everywhere. I didn’t notice at first. But the minute she touched the fabric..."

Her voice cracked into a sharp, humorless laugh.

"Bright blue handprints. All over the dress!"

Claire’s eyes flashed with anger.

"Claire, she didn’t do that to hurt you," I said softly.

"You don’t see it, Simon," she shot back. "She’s manipulative. She wants me gone so she can have you all to herself."

I stared, stunned.

"Do you hear what you’re saying?"

"You’ve always wanted this more than I did."

Those words hit me like a punch. I wanted this? Only me?

She had supported adoption, crying tears of joy when we met Sophie, promising her a home. Now, she saw a scared little girl as a threat. Because some things had changed.

I stepped closer, searching her face for the woman I once knew. The woman who had held Sophie and promised her love forever.

"You're safe now. We love you so much," she had told her.

But now? I saw someone else. Someone who didn’t love our daughter.

"You don’t mean this," I said quietly. "You’re overwhelmed. Just an adjustment. Like Karen said. Sophie is testing boundaries, but she’s not—"

"Stop it, Simon," Claire cut me off sharply. "Either she goes, or I do."

I froze, stunned. I had not expected her to give an ultimatum. My wife or my child?

Her expression was unshakeable, as if she had already made peace with losing me.

The Claire I had loved—who had fought for this adoption, who had cried when we brought Sophie home—was gone. Now, someone else saw our daughter as a threat.

"I'm not going to ruin this little girl’s life," I said firmly. "She’s my daughter now."

"Are you seriously choosing a stranger over me?" Claire asked, her mouth dropping open.

"Stranger? Are you crazy? I’m choosing what’s right."

She burst into a cold, incredulous laugh.

"Do you think you’re some hero? That I’m the villain because I don’t want a child who...who..." Her voice broke as she tousled her hair.

I remained silent. There was nothing else to say.

Claire stormed past, grabbed her keys, and slammed the door. The sound of her car screaming out of the driveway echoed into the night.

And just like that, she was gone.

Three Weeks Later

The room smelled of stale coffee and cheap air freshener.

A clock on the wall ticked slowly, each second stretching like a canyon. Sophie was with my mother, excited to bake cookies and decorate them.

"Don’t worry, Simon," my mother said. "I’ll keep my granddaughter happy and busy. You need to work out your marriage."

Now, Claire sat across from me. Her hands were stiff on her lap, her eyes flickering between me and the mediator.

I hardly recognized her as my wife.

She wasn’t pale or frantic like when she left. She looked composed, her lips painted with soft pink, and she wore the pearl earrings I had given her on our anniversary.

But something was wrong, forced.

"I made a mistake," she finally said, breaking the silence. "I wasn’t in my right mind."

I exhaled slowly, glancing at Ellen, the mediator, who watched us carefully with a pen ready.

Claire turned to me, softer now.

"Simon, I... I let fear guide me. I wasn’t ready. But I’ve had time to think. I want to come home. I want us to fix this."

I stayed quiet.

Because what would be there to fix?

She had come into our house, looked at our daughter, and called her manipulative. A four-year-old manipulative?

She gave me an ultimatum—like Sophie was something to toss away.

Now, after a year, feeling lonely and faced with the consequences of her choices, she wanted to undo it?

Undo it?

"You didn’t just leave me, Claire," I said. "You left her."

"I was overwhelmed..." she flinched.

"We both were," I interrupted. "But I didn’t walk away."

Claire’s lips parted, but I kept going.

"Do you know what she did after you left?" My voice faltered, but I pressed on. "She cried herself to sleep for weeks. She woke up calling for you at night. She thought she did something wrong."

Claire’s eyes glistened, tears forming.

I shook my head.

The stories she told me—how she tore our family apart. I swallowed the lump.

And I said, "You destroyed her, Claire. I won’t let you do it again."

Silence fell.

Ellen cleared her throat.

"Simon, just to clarify, you’re saying reconciliation isn’t an option?"

I nodded.

"That’s correct."

Claire’s voice was quiet but firm.

"I still love you, Simon."

But I looked at her unwavering.

"I don’t love you anymore," I said. The words settled, cold and final. Claire’s shoulders shook with a quiet sob. I didn’t reach for her. I didn’t comfort her.

Because the woman I once loved had chosen to become a stranger.

And I had already chosen Sophie.

One Year Later

Sophie still flinches when she hears loud voices.

She hesitates before calling me "Daddy," afraid that the word will make me disappear.

She clings to me when she’s scared, when nightmares chase her, when she loses sight of me in the store, or when someone lets go of her hand.

But she smiles more now. She is lighter. She’s learning to trust that love can stay.

Tonight, as I tucked her into bed, she curled against my chest, her tiny fingers around mine.

"You won’t leave me, Daddy?"

"Never," I whispered, kissing her forehead.

She sighed, her body settling into mine.

Finally safe. Finally home.

What would you have done?

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