There was something about her.

I watched her playing near the other children. She was passive, mute, in her own world in the middle of activity. She set the tiny plastic table for two, and placed a tiara on a teddy bear. She twirled around and gracefully sat the bear on the chair. She poured pretend tea in two tiny cups, added invisible sugar, and daintily seated herself across from her beloved stuffed friend.

She never spoke a word. Two boys ran past with long capes billowing out behind them. Other girls shrieked as their feet trod dangerously close to their doll’s accessories scattered between them. But she only nodded to the bear and touched a tiny cup to her lips. She stared off into an empty corner of the room and seemed to sigh. Why was she playing alone?

“That one is trouble. She never minds any adults. She throws tantrums over silly things, and only wants to play tea party with that silly bear,” the social worker informed me. “She refuses to speak to anyone.”

But I knew I had to have her.