97

Alfred.

"Please, sit down," he gestured to a small sofa rather than the chairs across from his desk. He walked to a sideboard where a coffee service was arranged. 

"Coffee? I remember you take it with just a splash of cream, right?" He was already pouring without waiting for my answer. "I have those almond cookies you mentioned liking during our first meeting too." He brought over a small tray, setting it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. "I try to remember the small details about the parents I work with. It helps create a more comfortable environment for these difficult discussions." He handed me a cup, our fingers brushing in the exchange. "Some of these children's histories are heartbreaking, and I find it helps to create a safe space to process that information."

As I sat, he didn't take the opposite end but sat close enough that our knees almost touched. He opened a folder and began showing me the children's medical records and school assessments. The sofa was smaller than it had appeared, forcing me to sit with my shoulder nearly touching his as we reviewed the documents. Photos of the children at different ages were clipped to their files – Emma missing her front teeth, Noah looking serious in oversized glasses, the twins holding hands as toddlers. "These four have been through more than any child should," Daniel said softly, his voice taking on a gentler quality. "Noah's parents died in a car accident when he was four. He remembers them, which makes placement harder. The families who returned him didn't understand his grief process."

"Emma has a slight delay in reading development, but she's incredibly artistic," he explained, leaning closer to point at a chart. His shoulder pressed against mine. His finger traced a line on Emma's educational assessment. "See this pattern? Classic indicators of a visual learning style. She struggles with phonetic reading approaches but absorbs information beautifully when presented visually." He turned slightly, his face now inches from mine. "That's why your gift was so perfect. It's almost as if you intuitively understood her needs." His eyes held mine for a moment too long. "The twins have no developmental issues, surprisingly. Their resilience is remarkable considering they were found abandoned at a bus station with nothing but a note saying their parents couldn't care for them anymore."

I shifted slightly. "Sebastian and I can arrange tutoring if needed." I created a small space between us by adjusting my position to look more directly at the files. "Sebastian's mother was a reading specialist before she retired. She's already offered to help with any educational challenges." I focused intently on the papers, avoiding Daniel's gaze. "We've also researched therapists specializing in adoption adjustment. We want to make sure all four children have whatever support they need during the transition and beyond." I picked up Emma's file, noting her progress reports. "It's wonderful that you've documented their development so thoroughly. This will be incredibly helpful in making sure we continue the approaches that work best for each of them."

"Sebastian," Daniel repeated, closing the folder. "You mention him quite often." He leaned back slightly, studying my face with an unreadable expression. He took a slow sip of his coffee before setting it down. "Every other sentence begins with 'Sebastian and I' or 'Sebastian thinks.'" His tone wasn't accusatory, merely observational, though something flickered in his eyes. "It's unusual in my experience. Most couples I work with speak more as individuals during these sessions, especially when only one partner is present." He tilted his head slightly. "Your connection must be quite extraordinary. How long did you say you've been married?"

"He's my husband," I stated simply. I met his gaze directly, keeping my expression neutral despite the slight defensiveness I felt rising. "We've been married for three years, but we make decisions together, especially important ones like adding four children to our family." I reached for my coffee, creating another natural reason to increase the distance between us. "Sebastian couldn't be here today, but he's equally committed to this adoption. We're partners in everything we do." I smiled politely but firmly. "I mention him because he's as much a part of this process as I am, even when he's not physically present."

"Of course." Daniel smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm curious though – how did someone like you end up with someone like him?" He repositioned himself, closing the distance I'd created. "I don't mean to pry, but it helps me understand the family dynamics the children would be entering." He picked up his pen, tapping it thoughtfully against his notepad. "The home environment is critical to successful placement, especially with children who have experienced trauma and abandonment. Understanding your relationship helps me prepare the children for their new family structure."

"Someone like me?" I raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to be offended or merely confused by his question. His presumptuous tone made me uncomfortable, but I reminded myself this was all part of the assessment process. Sebastian and I had discussed being completely transparent about our relationship, knowing that honesty was the best approach for both the adoption officials and the children. Still, something about Daniel's question felt less professional and more personally intrusive, as if he were fishing for information beyond what was necessary for the adoption.

"Kind, gentle, nurturing," Daniel clarified. "The mayor has quite a reputation for being... intense. Ruthless in politics." He set his notepad aside, turning his body to face me more directly. "The newspapers paint him as quite the formidable figure – cutting budgets when necessary, standing firm against opposition, sometimes making unpopular decisions for long-term benefits." He studied my face carefully. "Yet here you are, so different in temperament from what the public sees of him. It's an interesting contrast." His eyes softened. "I imagine you bring balance to his life. The gentle force that tempers the storm, perhaps?"

"There's more to Sebastian than what people see in public," I defended. "He's loving and generous with the people he cares about." I felt a surge of protectiveness toward my husband. "The Sebastian I know reads poetry before bed, volunteers at animal shelters on weekends, and cried when we watched 'Up' together." I smiled at the memories. "Yes, he's determined and sometimes forceful in his professional life – that's what makes him effective at his job. But at home, with family? He's thoughtful and tender." I glanced at my watch, suddenly eager to bring this conversation back to the children. "The public only sees one facet of who he is, just as they only see one side of me. Together, we balance each other in ways that make us stronger as a team."

Daniel nodded slowly. "I'm sure he is." He checked his watch. "We should probably get back to the children." He gathered the files, sliding them into a leather portfolio. "Children are excellent judges of character. If they respond well to you, I have no doubt there's genuine warmth in your home." He stood, offering his hand to help me up – an unnecessary gesture that I accepted out of politeness. "Family dynamics fascinate me, especially in adoptive situations. The bonds we choose can be even stronger than those we're born into, don't you think?" He held my hand a moment longer than necessary before releasing it. "I've seen all types of families succeed in adoption, but the most important factor is always love. The children need to feel secure in that love, regardless of temperament differences between parents."