When my sister Julia first told me she was adopting, her voice was filled with joy. After years of infertility and heartbreak, she and her husband finally had hope of becoming parents. Adoption, she said, was their second chance at happiness.
That second chance came in the form of Sophie, a shy two-year-old with wide brown eyes and a gentle smile. From the moment I met her, I felt an unbreakable bond. Sophie became the heart of our family, and Julia proudly called her “my miracle.” For a while, everything seemed perfect.
But everything changed when Julia became pregnant. Suddenly, Sophie was pushed into the background. Julia’s attention shifted completely to her biological son, Daniel, and the little girl who had once been her pride and joy was left in the shadows.
The moment that broke me came when Sophie proudly showed Julia a drawing of their family. Julia, rocking Daniel in her arms, barely glanced at it. “That’s nice, honey,” she said distractedly. Sophie’s smile vanished as she quietly put the picture down. My heart ached for her.
As the months went by, Sophie’s needs were overlooked while Daniel received all the love and attention. Then one evening, Sophie called me in tears. At just seven years old, she whispered, “Auntie, can I live with you? Mommy doesn’t love me anymore.”
