I still remember the day everything shifted — the phone call, the stillness, the sound of my own heartbeat pounding as the words sank in. My sister was gone. In the middle of that shock came another truth that broke me open: her seven-year-old daughter, my niece, was suddenly alone. I can still feel the ache that swept through me as I realized she’d lost everything in a single day.
My first instinct was to go to her, to hold her and promise she would never feel that kind of emptiness again. But love, as I learned that day, doesn’t always move faster than fear. My husband and I had never raised a child. We were comfortable, settled, used to our quiet routines and empty weekends. When I told him I wanted to take her in, his silence lasted too long. He didn’t say no — not directly — but I heard the hesitation in his voice. And instead of fighting harder, I froze.
Time moved while I didn’t. Paperwork was filed, decisions made, and before I could catch my breath, she was in foster care. I told myself it was temporary — that once we figured things out, we’d bring her home. But the truth is, once life moves forward, it rarely waits for you to catch up.
For years afterward, I carried that decision like a quiet shadow. Every Christmas morning, I wondered where she was. Every birthday, I imagined her blowing out candles surrounded by strangers. I hoped she was happy, loved, safe. But some nights, when the house was too quiet and my husband had gone to bed, I’d sit in the dark and think about that little girl with the big brown eyes who used to call me “Auntie Jo.”
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