I adopted my best friend’s daughter after her tragic death. For 13 years, I poured every bit of love I had into that girl. I gave up sleep, jobs, friendships, vacations—everything—just to make sure she always felt wanted, chosen, and safe. But on her 18th birthday… she did something that made me cry harder than I ever had in my life. My name is Anna. And before everything—before motherhood, before responsibility—I was just a girl who grew up in an orphanage. The orphanage wasn’t cruel… but it wasn’t loving either.

I was only 11 when I learned the hard way that some fathers don’t just leave—you get thrown away like garbage. It all started on a chilly Tuesday afternoon. The front door slammed with a sound that would haunt me for years. Dad walked in with a woman I’d never seen before. Her perfume hit me like a punch, sweet and sharp, burning my nose. She wore high heels that clicked on the hardwood floor like a ticking clock counting down my old life. “Paula,” my dad said, introducing her

Two years ago, my whole world cracked open. I was 30, trying to survive cancer, and halfway through chemotherapy — the kind of treatment that doesn’t just make you tired, but eats at your identity piece by piece. I lost my hair.I lost my appetite.I even lost my sense of time. One night, sitting alone on the couch, I whispered,“Some days, even the smell of the fridge makes me nauseous. How’s that for normal?” Everything felt different. Light hurt my eyes. Water tasted like metal. My body felt like it