Love isn’t supposed to come with conditions, but for my sister Erin, it did. The moment she gave birth to her biological son, she abandoned her adopted daughter without a second thought.
“She wasn’t really mine anyway,” she said with a shrug, as if tossing away a used toy. But karma was already knocking at her door.
There are moments in life that shatter you, leaving you breathless, unable to comprehend the cruelty of the world. For me, it was when Erin uttered four simple 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 had given her space. But when she gave birth to a baby boy, the entire family decided to visit to celebrate the new arrival.
I filled my car with gifts—adorable baby clothes for my nephew and a soft teddy bear for Lily, my goddaughter. I was excited to see her, to see how much she had grown. But when we arrived at Erin’s house, something felt off.
The plastic slide Lily loved so much was gone from the yard. Her tiny sunflower garden, the one we had planted together last summer, had vanished. My heart started to race.
Erin opened the door, cradling a swaddled baby in her arms. “Everyone, meet Noah!” she announced, beaming with pride.
The family cooed over the baby, Mom immediately reaching out to hold him while Dad started snapping photos. But I couldn’t ignore the unease growing inside me. My eyes scanned the living room. Something was missing. No toys. No photos. No Lily.
“Where’s Lily?” I asked, still smiling, holding her gift.
The second her name left my lips, Erin’s expression stiffened. She exchanged a glance with her boyfriend, Sam, who suddenly found great interest in adjusting the thermostat.
“Oh,” Erin said casually. “I gave her back.”
I blinked. “What?”
“You know I always wanted to be a boy mom,” she sighed, as if explaining something obvious. “Now that I have Noah, I don’t need a daughter. And don’t forget, Lily was adopted. She wasn’t really mine.”
The gift box slipped from my hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.
“You GAVE HER BACK?!” My voice was sharp, disbelief clawing at my throat. “She’s not some item you return to the store, Erin! She’s a CHILD!”
She rolled her eyes. “Relax, Angela. It’s not like I gave up my own kid. She was just… temporary.”
Temporary.
The word struck me like a slap. As if Lily had been nothing more than a placeholder until the ‘real’ child arrived.
“TEMPORARY?” I repeated, my voice rising. “That little girl called you ‘Mommy’ for two years!”
“Well, she can call someone else that now,” Erin said, shrugging.
I could feel the rage bubbling up inside me, hot and uncontrollable. “How could you do this? You fought for her, Erin! You went through all the paperwork, you cried when the adoption was finalized!”
“That was before,” she said dismissively. “Things are different now.”
“Different how?” I demanded. “Because you finally have a child with your DNA?”
“Look, Angela, you’re overreacting,” she said, exasperated. “I did what was best for everyone. Noah needs all my love and attention. I can’t be splitting it between two kids.”
I could barely process the words coming out of her mouth.
“You held her in your arms, called her your daughter, and then threw her away like she was nothing?!”
“She was a foster kid first,” Erin muttered. “She knew this could happen.”
“You think that makes it okay?” My hands were shaking now. “She’s FOUR YEARS OLD. You were her world.”
Sam finally spoke up, his voice low. “The agency found her a good placement. She’ll be fine.”
But before I could respond, there was a sharp knock at the door. Sam went to answer it. From where I stood, I saw two people on the porch—a man and a woman in professional attire.
“Ms. Erin?” the woman asked, holding up an ID. “We’re from Child Protective Services. We need to speak with you.”
Erin paled. “CPS? But… why?”
“We have concerns regarding your adoption dissolution and your ability to provide a stable home for your son.”
“My son?” Erin’s voice wavered as she clutched Noah protectively.
The CPS workers entered, taking seats at the dining table. The woman, Vanessa, flipped through some documents. “We understand that you expedited the process of relinquishing custody without following the recommended counseling. That raises concerns about your judgment as a parent.”
My parents looked at each other, stunned. Erin was speechless.
“We will be conducting a full investigation,” the man, David, added.
Erin’s hands tightened around Noah. “You can’t take my baby! He’s MY son!”
Vanessa gave her a pointed look. “And Lily was your daughter.”
The irony wasn’t lost on Erin, but she didn’t have a response.
As CPS launched their investigation, I couldn’t stop thinking about Lily. Where was she? Was she safe?
I spent weeks making calls, searching adoption networks, even hiring a lawyer. Finally, I found her. She was still in foster care.
With a racing heart, I began the process of adopting her myself. Paperwork, home studies, interviews—it was grueling, but I didn’t care. I would do whatever it took to bring her home.
Months later, I sat nervously in a visitation center. Then, the door opened.
There she was. My Lily-bug. She looked so much smaller than I remembered.
She saw me, hesitated, then her face lit up.
“Auntie Angie?”
Tears streamed down my face as I opened my arms. She ran into them, clinging to me tightly.
“I missed you so much,” I whispered, stroking her hair.
She pulled back slightly. “Why did Mommy leave me?”
The innocent question shattered me. “Oh, sweetheart… You did nothing wrong. Sometimes grownups make mistakes. But I promise, I’ll never leave you. Ever.”
“Never ever?” she whispered.
“Never, ever.”
Three months later, Lily officially became my daughter.
The day the judge finalized the adoption, she wrapped her arms around my neck. “We did it, Mommy!”
Mommy.
The word I had longed to hear, from the child I had fought for.
Erin? CPS closed their investigation, but she was required to take parenting classes and undergo regular check-ins. She never reached out about Lily.
But I didn’t care. Because my family was complete.
Lily turned six last week. As I watched her playing in the yard, wearing a butterfly crown, laughter in her eyes, I knew one thing for sure:
Sometimes, the happiest endings come from the most painful beginnings. And the family you fight for is the one that truly matters.
