The orphanage got the adopted child back. Despite how embarrassing it is, sigh with relief.

For a long time, I was reluctant to write.
I felt humiliated by my actions and my state of helplessness.
I tried to do the right thing by finding the boy a family, but I fell short and had to return the boy to the orphanage.
I’m open to any criticism, so scold me or write about how heartless I am.

I’m starting over.
I have been married to the best man in the world for a very long time.
Two of our daughters are being raised.
The girls are already in school.
I take care of the girls because I am a good mother.
I take them to singing and dancing events and regularly help them with their homework.
For a long time, my husband wanted a son, but due to my health, I was unable to give birth to him.
And after that, I suggested to my husband to adopt the young boy from the orphanage.
We visited the adoptive parents’ school, gathered all the necessary paperwork, and then traveled to the orphanage.
We discovered “our” boy right away; he was blond with sorrowful eyes, just as we had imagined.
I had to initially make eye contact with the child.
The boy was eight years old, but he was illiterate.
The infant spent a long time living on the streets before being removed from his alcoholic parents by social services.

Video infographic from The Asia Times.
We brought the boy home once contact had been made and the trial was finished.
I took over his education from the beginning.
I signed him up for second grade.
Even though he didn’t even understand the fundamentals, I refused to consent to passing it in the first place.
Due to the additional month I had before school, I was confident I would have time to prepare it.
My son was obstinately unwilling or unable to learn those letters, despite my best efforts.

He was like an angel at first, but after a week I lost sight of the kid. He acted in a truly repulsive manner, breaking the eldest girl’s phone and her toys, arguing nonstop, and not listening to us.
And one day he simply vanished.
We went to the playground, and my son vanished as I was chatting with a neighbor there.
I entered the house to call him.
I was to blame for the child’s neglect.
Who would have imagined, however, that he would throw something like that.
He was sitting on the pipes when I discovered him in our home’s basement.
brought home and cleaned.
She scowled as loudly as she could.
When she realized I couldn’t handle it, she sobbed for a while.

With the start of the school year, things got worse.
The teacher criticized my child’s lack of respect for rules, his lack of compliance with the curriculum, and the fact that he should attend boarding school for the first year rather than a general education school, all on a daily basis.
I was feeling down.
The teachers of my daughters used to praise them, but now they only have criticisms to offer.
I was on the verge of collapsing with embarrassment.
But I was hoping that my son was adjusting in this way.
I took him to see a neurologist and a psychologist.
Time for her to schedule an appointment with a psychiatrist.

My temper tantrums began.
also on level ground.
As the adoptive mother of a child, I felt utterly ashamed of myself.
I struggled to get him to comply because he was completely out of control.
Whenever we took the boy somewhere, the girls would sob uncontrollably and demand to have him returned.
As a father, the husband was powerless to influence his son; he failed to establish himself as a source of authority. In our family, there were arguments over this.

Once I realized how much money had vanished from the wallet, it was a sizable amount.
On the loan, this amount had to be repaid.
Who to ask, I already knew.
I called the kids, but it turned out that my son had left the house after packing his bags.
I threw an unprecedented temper tantrum.
The fact that my husband was present and it was a holiday was fortunate. He requested an ambulance, and it transported me to the hospital.

I couldn’t think clearly because I was under the influence of medication.
I recall my husband saying that he located his son and resolved the situation.
When I was released, all I saw at home were women.
The father returned to the orphanage with his son, filled out all the necessary paperwork, and left.
I’m embarrassed to say that I sobbed in relief and started crying.
I felt bad for this boy, my husband, my daughters, and myself.
I was unable to provide the child with a family, love, and care, despite my desire to do so. Since it seems like everyone is blaming and condemning me, I am tormented by a deep sense of shame right now. All I want to do is get out of this town.