It was a quiet day in our suburban neighborhood when a moving truck arrived at the long-abandoned house next door. Curious, I watched from my window. The family was strange—a sharp-featured man, a ghostly woman, and a little girl clutching a worn teddy bear, playing alone in the overgrown yard.
Samuel and I had always dreamed of having kids, but it never happened. He avoided the topic, while I clung to hope. Seeing that lonely little girl stirred something in me.
A few days later, I found her playing near the street. I gently led her back to her house and knocked—no answer. Inside, the place was half-empty. “What’s your name?” I asked. “Lily,” she whispered. She had no crayons, so we drew in the dirt, built a castle from stones, and laughed together. It broke my heart to think she might never have known this kind of joy.
Her mother eventually appeared, emotionless, and invited me for tea. The next day, I knocked—no answer again. Inside, I found Lily alone with a note:
“She’s yours if you want her. We know you’ll take good care of her.”
Stunned, I took Lily home. Samuel was furious. “We agreed—no kids.”
“But she was abandoned,” I said. That’s when he confessed: he never wanted children and had only lied to keep me. He gave me an ultimatum—take Lily back or leave.
I left.
Lily and I spent the night in my office at the school where I work. I started the adoption process, but I needed a stable home. Then came a twist: Lily had inherited the house. Her former adoptive parents had taken her only for the money, then abandoned her, believing she deserved better.
So Lily and I moved in. The house became a home. Slowly, she opened up. Every time she called me “Mommy,” my heart soared.
Samuel, alone now, began helping out. It wasn’t easy to forgive, but maybe—just maybe—we could find our way back.
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