When new neighbors moved into the abandoned house next door, I immediately sensed something was off. Their young daughter, Lily, often played alone, and one day I ended up spending hours with her before her ghostly, detached mother appeared. Out of courtesy, she invited me for tea the next day. Something about the child’s loneliness lingered in my heart long after they left.
When I returned, the house was eerily quiet. Inside, I found Lily alone, clutching a note that read: “She’s yours if you want her. We know you’ll take good care of her.” I was stunned—but I couldn’t leave her behind. I took her to my home, despite knowing my husband Samuel didn’t want children. The fear in Lily’s eyes told me I was her only hope.
Samuel was furious. He admitted he’d lied for years—he never wanted kids and gave me an ultimatum: return Lily or leave. I chose Lily. I packed a bag, took her hand, and we left, spending the night in my office at the school where I worked. My heart broke, but I knew I had made the right choice.
Later, I began adoption proceedings. Surprisingly, Lily had inherited the house—her previous guardians had only adopted her for that. But they realized she deserved love, not greed. We moved in, and the cold, empty home became a place of warmth. Every time Lily called me “Mommy,” it reminded me why I had chosen her over everything.