“Too much, Mama!”

“Sorry, sweetheart.”

That night I checked the windows three times.

Then I sat in Lily’s doorway, watching her sleep with Bunny tucked beneath her chin.

I wanted to confront Victor.

I wanted to ask him how he could threaten families who were only trying to give a child a loving home.

Instead, I called Claire.

“We need a plan,” I said.

She came over early the next morning.

Together we reviewed Lily’s preschool pickup rules, added an emergency contact password, and made sure the staff knew only approved adults could pick her.

We arranged for a video doorbell and outdoor lights.

I also told Lily’s teacher about a possible unauthorized visitor.

I didn’t give her frightening details, just the information she needed to keep Lily safe.

The agency assigned a worker named Denise to review what had happened.

At our first meeting, she looked uncomfortable.

“Those reports should have been considered and disclosed during your assessment,” she said.

“Why weren’t they?”

“An internal review has begun. I don’t want to give you an answer that hasn’t been established.”

It wasn’t the answer I wanted. But at least she didn’t pretend the problem was minor.

She explained that Victor had repeatedly asked about her placement, including after the adoption was completed.

The agency was checking whether staff had shared information they shouldn’t have.

“Could he take Lily away?” I asked.

“His failed application does not give him authority to collect her,” Denise said. “Your adoption is final. If he wants to raise a legal issue, he must use the courts.”

Still, I couldn’t shake the idea that he might approach her.

Two days later, an officer named James visited with photographs taken from a neighbor’s security camera.

The footage showed a gray sedan stopping near my house on two afternoons.

A man remained behind the wheel.

James wouldn’t identify him from the grainy image.

The plate, however, gave police a lead, and they were looking into it.

“We don’t want you to confront anyone,” he told me. “Call us if the car returns. Keep your doors locked, and follow the preschool’s safety procedures.”

I nodded, although every part of me wanted to do more.

That Saturday, Helen visited from church. She brought soup and stayed while Lily colored at the kitchen table.

“I’m afraid I’ve made a terrible mistake,” I admitted.

Helen put down her cup. “By adopting her?”

“I’m old enough to be her grandmother. What if I can’t protect her?”

Helen looked toward Lily, who was drawing an enormous purple cat.

“You asked those questions before adopting her. You built a support system. You called for help when something changed. That’s protecting her.”

I wanted to believe her.

Then Lily brought over the drawing.

“That’s you,” she said, pointing at the cat.

“Why am I purple?”

“Because you’re pretty.”

Helen laughed until she cried.

For one peaceful hour, I almost forgot the folder.

The following Wednesday, I arrived at preschool 10 minutes early.

Lily’s class had been making paper snowflakes, and I had promised to put hers in our kitchen window.

As I crossed the parking lot, a man stepped out from behind a parked pickup truck.

“Are you the woman who adopted Lily?”

I stopped.

He looked about 40, with tired eyes and a dark jacket.

“Who are you?”

“Victor. Lily’s uncle.”

My fingers tightened around my keys.

He glanced toward the school entrance.

“I just want to see my niece.”

“You need to contact the agency.”

“I’ve been contacting them for months. Nobody listens to me.”

He took a step forward. I stepped back toward the entrance where other parents were arriving.

“Please keep your distance.”

His face hardened.

“She’s my brother’s daughter. She’s all I’ve got left of him.”

I heard the pain in his voice. I also remembered the photographs sent to frightened families.

“If you cared about Lily’s safety,” I said, “you wouldn’t have threatened the people trying to care for her.”

His eyes flashed.

“They were going to take her away from her family.”

“They were trying to give her a home.”

“You don’t understand. I promised my brother that I’d look after her.”

“Then you should have worked through the proper process instead of terrifying people.”

“You’re almost 70. What happens when you die?”

The question hurt because I’d asked myself the same thing.

“I’ve made plans for Lily,” I replied. “And you will not pick her up from this school.”

He moved toward the entrance.

I didn’t try to stop him with my body.

I walked through the open door, told the receptionist that an unauthorized man was outside, and asked her to follow our safety plan.

The receptionist contacted the director.

They moved the children away from the entrance while I called the police.

Victor remained outside, shouting that he had a right to see Lily.

I could hear him through the glass.

“Tell her I didn’t forget her!”

My hands shook so badly I nearly dropped my phone.

Officers arrived before the children were dismissed.

They spoke with Victor in the parking lot, then asked me for a statement.

James was among them.

“We’ve documented what happened,” he said. “We’ll review this alongside the previous reports and the surveillance evidence.”

I asked whether Victor would be arrested.

“That depends on the evidence and what offenses can be established,” he answered. “For now, don’t engage with him. Your attorney can advise you about a protective order.”