At ten years old, my life split in two. My parents dropped me off at Gran’s “just for a little while” so they could focus on my younger sister Chloe’s gymnastics career. That “little while” turned into forever.
Gran loved me, but she was getting older and struggling. A few months later, my Uncle Rob and Aunt Lisa stepped in. They couldn’t have children of their own and called me their “miracle kid.”
From then on, they became everything I ever dreamed parents could be. Lisa braided my hair, came to every school event, and cheered the loudest from the sidelines. Rob told the worst dad-jokes, made late-night ice cream runs, and gave me the kind of steady love I’d been missing. When I was sixteen, they officially adopted me—and that day, I finally felt at home.
Meanwhile, my biological parents faded from my life. No birthday cards. No calls. No support. By the time I was twelve, I stopped reaching out.
Years passed. I built a life with Rob and Lisa, pursued my passion for IT, and started a career I love. Then Chloe’s accident ended her gymnastics dreams—and suddenly, my bio-parents came knocking.
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