Love isn’t supposed to have conditions. But for my sister, it did. Without hesitation or guilt, she abandoned her adopted daughter the moment she had a biological son. When I tried to understand how she could be so heartless, she just shrugged and said, “She wasn’t really mine anyway.” But karma was already knocking at her door.
There are moments in life that shatter you, leaving you breathless, unable to move. For me, it was when my sister, Erin, uttered four words about her four-year-old adopted daughter: “I gave her back.”
We hadn’t seen Erin in months. She lived a few states away, and with her pregnancy, we gave her space. But when she gave birth to a baby boy, Noah, the whole family decided to visit and celebrate.
I packed my car with gifts, carefully wrapping a stuffed elephant for Lily, my four-year-old goddaughter. As we pulled up to Erin’s suburban home, something felt off. The little plastic slide that Lily loved was gone. The garden of sunflowers we planted together last summer had disappeared.
Erin opened the door, cradling a tiny bundle in her arms. “Everyone, meet Noah!” she beamed, turning the baby toward us.
Mom immediately took the baby in her arms, Dad started snapping pictures, and the whole room filled with coos of admiration. But something nagged at me. I glanced around the living room—no toys, no stick-figure drawings on the fridge, no sign of Lily.
“Where’s Lily?” I asked, still holding her gift, expecting to hear she was napping or at preschool.
Erin’s smile faltered. She exchanged a glance with her boyfriend, Sam, who suddenly busied himself adjusting the thermostat.
“Oh! I gave her back,” she said casually.
I blinked, certain I misheard. “What? Gave her back where?”
Mom stopped rocking the baby. Dad lowered his camera. The air in the room thickened.
Erin sighed, as if she had to explain something simple. “You know I always wanted to be a boy mom. Now I have Noah. Why would I need a daughter? And don’t forget, Lily was adopted. I don’t need her anymore.”
My hands trembled. The gift box slipped from my grasp, landing with a dull thud. “You GAVE HER BACK?” My voice cracked. “Erin, she’s not a puppy you return to the shelter! She’s a child!”
She rolled her eyes. “Relax, Angela. She wasn’t really mine anyway. It’s not like I gave up my own kid. She was just… temporary.”
The word hit me like a slap. Temporary? As if Lily had been nothing more than a placeholder until the real thing came along.
“T-TEMPORARY?” I stammered, my heart pounding. “That little girl called you ‘Mommy’ for two years!”
“Ah, well,” Erin said, shrugging. “She can call someone else that now.”
I stared at her, trying to find any trace of remorse, but there was none.
“What changed?” I demanded. “You fought for her! You cried when the adoption was finalized!”
“That was before,” Erin said, waving a dismissive hand. “Things are different now.”
“Different how? Because you finally got a ‘real’ child? What kind of message does that send to Lily?”
“Look, Angela, you’re making this a big deal. I loved Lily, sure, but Noah needs all my attention. I don’t want to divide that love anymore.”
That’s when something inside me snapped. Lily wasn’t just Erin’s daughter. She was mine too, in a way. I held her when she cried. I rocked her to sleep. I was her godmother.
I had always dreamed of being a mother, but after years of miscarriages, I thought it would never happen. Then Lily came into my life, filling the void with her laughter, her tiny hands reaching for mine, her little voice calling me “Auntie Angie.”
And Erin had thrown her away.
“You held her, called her your daughter, and then tossed her aside the second you got your ‘real’ kid?!”
Sam finally spoke up. “Look, we didn’t make this decision lightly. Noah needs all our attention right now.”
“You think abandoning Lily was fair?” I snapped.
“The agency found her a good placement,” Sam muttered. “She’ll be fine.”
A knock on the door interrupted us. Sam went to open it, revealing a man and a woman in professional attire.
“Ms. Erin?” the woman asked, holding up an ID. “I’m Vanessa, and this is David. We’re from Child Protective Services. We need to speak with you regarding concerns about your adoption process and your ability to provide a stable home for your son.”
Erin turned pale. “CPS? But… why?”
“We have reason to believe that you expedited the adoption dissolution process and failed to follow proper protocols,” Vanessa said firmly. “This raises concerns about your judgment as a parent.”
I watched as Erin’s confidence shattered. She turned to us, seeking support, but we stood silent.
Over the next few months, Erin was forced to take parenting classes while CPS continued their investigation. Meanwhile, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lily. Where was she? Was she safe?
I hired a lawyer, scoured adoption networks, and finally, after weeks of searching, I got a lead.
“Lily is still in foster care,” my lawyer told me. “If you want custody, you have a chance.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I said.
Months of paperwork, home studies, and sleepless nights followed. Finally, I was granted a supervised visit.
In a small playroom at the foster center, I saw her—Lily, sitting at a tiny table with crayons scattered around her. She looked smaller than I remembered, her eyes filled with uncertainty.
“Lily?” I whispered.
She looked up, hesitating, then recognition lit up her face. “Auntie Angie?” she said softly.
I dropped to my knees, arms outstretched. She ran into them, holding me tight.
“I missed you, Lily-bug,” I whispered. “I missed you so much.”
She pulled back, her small hands on my cheeks. “Why did Mommy leave me? Was I bad?”
The innocent question broke me. “No, sweetheart. You did nothing wrong. Sometimes, grownups make mistakes. But I promise you, I will never leave you. Never.”
She searched my face. “Promise?”
“Forever and ever.”
Three months later, Lily came home with me. I fought for her. I became the mother Erin refused to be. And when the judge finalized the adoption, Lily hugged me tight and whispered, “We did it, Mommy.”
Mommy. The word I had longed to hear.
Lily turned six last week. In our backyard, she played with friends, wearing a butterfly crown she made herself. My husband, Alex, helped her build fairy houses, while my parents prepared her birthday cake inside.
I watched, holding a crayon drawing she had given me months ago—a picture of two tall figures and one small one, surrounded by hearts and butterflies.
She was home. Where she had always belonged.
Sometimes, the family you fight for is the one that truly matters. And sometimes, the universe has a way of putting things right.
