Thirteen years ago, as a brand-new ER doctor, I met Avery—a terrified three-year-old clinging to me after a fatal car crash that had taken her parents. I wasn’t supposed to be her guardian, but when social services tried to place her with strangers, I couldn’t let her go. One night turned into months of home checks, parenting classes, and sleepless shifts, until six months later, the adoption was final.
Avery grew into a sharp, stubborn teenager, my entire heart. When I met Marisa, a nurse practitioner, I thought I had found someone who could share our life. That illusion shattered when she tried to frame Avery for theft to manipulate me, claiming Avery wasn’t “really” my daughter. The security footage told the truth—Marisa, not Avery, had staged it all. I made her leave.
I hugged Avery, reminding her blood isn’t what defines family—love and choice do. Thirteen years ago, she chose me. Since then, I’ve spent every day choosing her back, proving that family is built by loyalty, not biology.