Love isn’t supposed to have conditions. But for my sister Erin, it did.

She gave up her adopted daughter, Lily, the moment she had a biological son.

When I asked her about it, she shrugged, saying, “She wasn’t really mine anyway.”

We hadn’t seen Erin in months, so when we visited to celebrate her newborn son, Noah,

I was shocked by what I found. The toys and pictures of Lily were gone. I asked, “Where’s Lily?”

Erin casually replied, “I gave her back.”I couldn’t believe it. “You gave her back? She’s a child,

not a rental!” But Erin was cold, dismissing Lily as “temporary.” My heart sank. Two years as a mother,

and it meant nothing. Before I could react, Child Protective Services arrived, investigating Erin’s

adoption dissolution. They were concerned about her ability to provide a stable home for Noah.

I couldn’t let this go. I found Lily in foster care and fought through paperwork and sleepless

nights to bring her home. On the day of our first visit, Lily hesitated, then recognized me.

“Auntie Angie?” she asked, and we embraced, promising each other I’d never leave. Three months

later, Lily came home for good. We finalized her adoption, and she called me “Mommy” for the

first time. Erin never apologized, but I had everything I’d ever wanted. Lily, now six, runs

through the backyard, her life filled with love and stability. She’s home, where she always

belonged. Sometimes, the universe sets things right, bringing people exactly where they were meant to be