The call that changed everything

This is Part 4 of a 6-part series: Our Adoption Journey – From Hope to Home. If you’re just joining us, you can read [Part 1 here], [Part 2 here], and [Part 3 here].

There are moments in life that divide everything into before and after.

For us, that moment came on an ordinary weekday. No warning. No build-up. Just a phone ringing — and a voice on the other end that would change everything.

But before I tell you about the call, I want to tell you about the waiting. Because the waiting is its own story.

Living fully while waiting: our adoption journey in pause mode

After we received our official approval to become adoptive parents, we knew that a longer wait was likely ahead of us. Our caseworker had been honest with us from the start — some families wait years before they receive a referral. So we made a decision, quietly but deliberately: we were not going to put our lives on hold.

We kept moving. We kept living.

I was going to the gym three times a week, and running on top of that. My husband had found his passion in long-distance trail running, conquering longer and longer distances across challenging terrain. We travelled. We socialised. We had dinners with friends and weekends with family. Wherever we went, Stella came with us — restaurants, dog-friendly beaches, even a four-star hotel that welcomed her with open arms.

Looking back, I think this was one of the most important decisions we made during our adoption journey. I had always been determined not to become bitter. Not to be the woman who couldn’t bear to hear the word “baby” at a dinner table. I had been through too much to let grief define me — and I had learned, slowly and painfully, that looking forward was always more powerful than staying lost in what didn’t happen.

So we lived. Fully, unapologetically, gratefully.

The Bali plans we never booked

By early 2025, we were deep into planning a trip to Bali. October was approaching — our tenth wedding anniversary — and we had decided we were going to celebrate it properly, on a beach on the other side of the world.

One weekend, we almost bought the flights. Almost.

Something came up. We ran out of time. We told ourselves we’d do it next weekend.

We never did.

And looking back now, I understand why. The universe, or fate, or whatever you want to call it, had other plans for that October. Better ones.

The phone call

It was an ordinary weekday when my phone rang.

I saw our caseworker’s number and answered, assuming it was a routine check-in — the kind of call where they ask whether your employment situation is still stable, whether you’re still ready and willing. I confirmed that yes, everything was fine, yes, we were still very much hoping and waiting.

And then she said it.

“That’s wonderful — because we have a little girl. And when we thought about her parents, we thought of you.”

I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know what to ask. My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear her voice. She couldn’t share much over the phone — only the basics. A little girl. Thirteen months old. Living in a baby home.

She asked whether, with this information, we would like to come in and review her file.

I said yes before she finished the sentence.

When I hung up the phone, I sat for a moment in complete silence. There was euphoria — finally, oh my goodness, finally — and underneath it, a fear I hadn’t expected. What if we read something in that file that we couldn’t accept? What if we had to say no? A thousand thoughts swirled through my mind at once.

I called my husband immediately. “We have a situation.”

He was in before I finished explaining.

The file review: our adoption journey gets real

Two days later — the earliest appointment available — we sat in a small office at the child protection services building. Our caseworker read us the file. Everything the authorities knew about our little girl: her background, her health, the notes from her caregivers at the baby home.

There was nothing in that file that felt impossible to us. Nothing that made us want to stop.

So when our caseworker asked whether we wanted to see her photographs, the answer was easy.

Yes. Absolutely yes.

She opened the folder, placed it in front of us — and then stepped out of the room, leaving my husband and me alone with the images.

What happened next was one of the most emotionally complex moments of our entire adoption journey.

Two photos that nearly stopped everything

The first photograph was not flattering. Neither was the second.

I watched my husband freeze. I could feel him shutting down beside me — absorbing those images, unable to move past them. And then we clicked to the third photo. The fourth. The fifth.

A completely different child looked back at us. Round cheeks. Dark, shining eyes. A tiny smile that felt like sunshine.

We sat there for a long time, scrolling back and forth through those five photographs.

One of the deepest fears my husband and I had carried throughout our adoption journey was this: what if a child is referred to us and we simply don’t feel it? It sounds like something people don’t say out loud — and they don’t, because it feels shameful to admit. But it is real, and it matters. Adoption only works when both parents are fully, completely, wholeheartedly in. You have to be able to picture this child in your living room every single day for the rest of your life. If you can’t — if something deep in you resists — then stopping is the right thing to do. For everyone, but most of all for the child.

My husband was terrified that his worst fear had come true.

The hardest weekend of our lives

Our caseworker could see that we weren’t certain. She gave us two days — a weekend — to decide whether we wanted to move forward to the next step, called the first glimpse visit (rápillantás) in Hungarian: a brief, supervised first look at the child in person. No touching. No more than a minute or two. Just a look.

That weekend was one of the hardest of our lives.

I kept seeing the three beautiful photographs in my mind. My husband kept seeing the first two. He spent the entire weekend wrestling with one impossible question: how do you say no to a healthy child? And I spent the entire weekend holding back — because I knew that I couldn’t push him. This had to be his yes as much as mine. Our strength as a couple, our unity, was the foundation everything else would be built on.

By Sunday evening, he had made his decision.

He couldn’t say no without seeing her in person. He couldn’t say a full yes either — not yet. But he could say: let’s go and look.

On Monday morning, I called our caseworker.

“We’d like to move forward. We’d like to go to the first glimpse visit.”

The moment everything changed

The baby home was on the other side of the city. We left more than an hour early — neither of us could bear the thought of being late.

I was nervous in a way I hadn’t felt since the very beginning of our adoption journey. Fear, hope, and something that felt like standing on the edge of a cliff.

We met our caseworker outside. Together, we went in.

The director and the psychologist of the baby home greeted us and explained what would happen: we would go upstairs to the playroom, they would show us which child was ours, we could look at her, say hello — but no touching, and the whole thing would last no more than a minute or two.

We followed them up the stairs. The tension was something you could almost touch.

When we walked into the room, the other children were quietly guided away. And there she was.

Thirteen months old. Sitting on a play mat in the middle of the room. Looking straight at us with the most beautiful brown eyes I had ever seen.

She smiled.

In that moment, every single thing that had ever hurt — every loss, every failed cycle, every morning I had cried before getting up to face the day — all of it fell away.

My husband and I didn’t look at each other. We didn’t need to.

We both knew.

She was our little blossom.

What comes next

In Part 5, I’ll be sharing the weeks that followed — the getting-to-know-you visits, the first time I fed her, the first time she saw sunlight and her eyes filled with tears, and the moment Stella finally met the little girl who had changed everything.

If you’re somewhere in your own adoption journey right now — in the waiting, the hoping, the terrifying and beautiful uncertainty — I want you to know: the call comes. And when it does, nothing will ever be the same again.

Start from the beginning with [Part 1: Before the Yes], or continue with [Part 2] and [Part 3].

FAQ — The adoption referral process

What happens when you receive an adoption referral? In Hungary, the process begins with a phone call from your caseworker, who informs you that a child has been identified as a potential match. You are then invited to review the child’s file — background, health information, and caregiver notes — before deciding whether to proceed. This is called aktabetekintés, or file review.

What is a first glimpse visit in the Hungarian adoption process? A first glimpse visit (rápillantás) is a brief, supervised first look at the referred child in person. Prospective parents may look at and greet the child but are not permitted to touch them. The visit typically lasts one to two minutes and helps parents make a more informed decision before committing to the next stage of the adoption journey.

Is it normal to have doubts during the adoption referral process? Completely normal — and important to acknowledge. Both parents need to feel genuinely ready to move forward. If either parent has serious reservations at the file review or first glimpse visit stage, it is both acceptable and encouraged to pause the process. The child has not yet been affected by the decision at this point.

How long does the adoption matching process take in Hungary? After receiving official approval, waiting times vary significantly. Some families receive a referral within months; others wait years. Our approval came through, and within a few months we received the call. The timeline depends on many factors, including the age range and needs of the child you are open to. For families considering international adoption from Hungary, Child Welfare Information Gateway offers helpful resources on the process.

What does the adoption journey feel like while you’re waiting? For us, it felt important to keep living fully — travelling, staying active, maintaining friendships — rather than putting life on hold. The wait is real and sometimes heavy, but it doesn’t have to consume everything. The call will come. And when it does, you’ll be glad you stayed whole while you waited.