We hadn’t seen Erin in months. When she gave birth to a baby boy, the whole family traveled to celebrate!
Gifts in hand, I was just as excited to meet the newborn and my goddaughter, Lily.
Except… she wasn’t there.
“Where’s Lily?” I asked.
Erin froze, glanced at her boyfriend, then shrugged.
“Oh. I gave her back.”
Silence.
“You—what?” My stomach dropped.
“I always wanted a boy. Now I have one. Why would I need a daughter?”
I felt sick. “You GAVE HER BACK?! She’s a child, not a return item!”
She rolled her eyes. “Relax. She wasn’t really mine anyway. Just… temporary.”
That’s when I snapped.
Lily wasn’t temporary—she was also my goddaughter, the little girl who filled the void left by my miscarriages.
“TEMPORARY?! You let her call you Mom, held her in your arms, and threw her away the second you got your ‘real’ kid?!”
Erin scoffed. “She was a foster kid, okay?”
I was shaking with rage.
Suddenly, we heard sharp knocks on the door.
Erin’s boyfriend, Marc, opened it hesitantly. Two women stood on the porch—one older, with kind but firm eyes, and another holding a notepad. Social workers.
“Erin Dalton?” the older one asked.
Erin blinked, confused. “Uh, yes?”
“We need to speak with you regarding a formal complaint. May we come in?”
I stepped back. Erin looked at me sharply, almost accusatory.
“Did you call them?” she hissed under her breath.
“No,” I said, truthfully. “But maybe someone should’ve.”
They walked in and got right to the point. It wasn’t just that she “gave Lily back.” It was how.
Turns out, Erin had taken Lily to a temporary care shelter—without informing the agency or following legal procedure. She left her with a handwritten note that said, “Found a better fit for our family. Thank you.”
I felt my knees wobble.
Erin was facing charges for abandonment and potential endangerment. The agency hadn’t been able to locate Lily for over three weeks. She’d been transferred through three homes already, confused, anxious, and asking about her “mom.”
I broke. I asked the caseworker, “Is it too late? To take her in?”
They were cautious but listened. I had been Lily’s godmother, and I had a clean record. The woman with the notepad said she’d bring it up to her supervisor.
Erin just laughed. “Good luck. She’s already damaged goods now. She clung to me like a tick. She’ll probably be the same with you.”
Something in me went cold.
I didn’t speak to Erin after that. The visit ended in chaos—my mother sobbing, Marc defending Erin, and Erin storming into her bedroom like a scolded teenager.
But the next few days were different.
I made phone calls. Filled out paperwork. Attended an emergency placement hearing.
And then—four days later—I saw Lily again.
Her hair was messier than I remembered. Her favorite rainbow sneakers were gone, replaced by plain Velcro ones. But when her eyes met mine, she whispered, “Auntie Ria?”
I dropped to my knees and hugged her so tight she squeaked. “You’re coming home with me, okay?”
She nodded. “I missed you.”
It’s been almost a year.
Lily is still healing. There are nights she asks if I’ll “trade her too” if I have a baby. I always hug her tight and tell her, “Never. You’re mine. Forever.”
As for Erin—well, karma’s interesting.
Child protective services checked in on her, and let’s just say she wasn’t quite the devoted mother she pretended to be. She’d leave her infant son with Marc’s teenage sister for hours, sometimes days. She wasn’t abusive, just… disinterested.
Eventually, Marc took full custody and moved out. Erin’s alone now.
We haven’t spoken in months.
I used to cry about the miscarriage, about what I’d lost. But sometimes, you don’t need to give birth to be a mother.
You just need to choose someone. And stay.
If you’ve ever felt like someone threw you away, I want you to know this: You are not disposable. You are not a phase. And you are never too much to be loved.
💛 Please share this if it moved you. You never know who might need to hear it today.