At my wedding to Carolyn, as I lifted her veil, my son Tim shouted, “Dad, wait! Look at her shoulder!” He pointed to a butterfly-shaped birthmark, identical to one on his classmate Emma. Tim suggested it might be genetic. Carolyn, trembling, admitted she’d given up a daughter for adoption years ago, who had the same mark. The chapel fell silent. After the ceremony, Carolyn revealed her parents might have adopted her daughter. We visited them, learning they’d found Emma in an orphanage.
They’d raised her, telling her about Carolyn. A week later, Emma met Carolyn, recognizing her from photos. “You’re still their daughter, like I’m yours,” Emma said. Carolyn, tearful, asked to know her. Emma agreed, already friends with Tim. That day, Tim gained a sister, Carolyn a second chance, and I saw a broken family heal. Family is messy but magical when it comes together.
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