When my sister Julia first told me she was adopting, her voice overflowed 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 unshakable bond. Sophie became the heart of our family, and Julia proudly called her “my miracle.” For a time, everything seemed perfect.
But everything changed when Julia became pregnant. Suddenly, Sophie faded into the background. Julia’s attention shifted entirely 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 held up a drawing of their family. Julia, rocking Daniel in her arms, barely looked at it. “That’s nice, honey,” she said distractedly. Sophie’s smile disappeared as she quietly set the picture down. My heart ached for her.
As the months passed, Sophie’s needs were ignored while Daniel received all the affection. 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.”
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