I never thought I’d write this, but my life unraveled in ways I could never have imagined.

Five years ago, I was the happiest I’d ever been. After years of struggling with infertility, my husband and I adopted a beautiful seven-year-old girl. She was full of hope, and our family felt complete.

A year later, our son was born, and she adored him. Life was perfect, until the accident. She was hit by a car while walking home from school. I couldn’t breathe. My world shattered.

I fell into a deep depression. A couple of weeks later, my son told me, “She waves at me from the house next door.” I thought he was imagining things, but then, one night, I saw it too. A shadow in the window, waving.

I rushed to the house across the street, and when the door opened, a woman answered. She was Robin, her biological mother, who had somehow taken her away without me knowing. She and my husband had staged the accident to make me think my daughter was dead. They’d even arranged for her cremation to keep me from fighting back.

The truth came out in a rush—my husband had sold her, choosing our son over her for the promise of money. I was horrified.

I grabbed her hand and ran home with both my children, determined to protect them. The legal battle was intense, but in the end, I won full custody of both. My husband signed the divorce papers, and Robin left.

I will never forgive the betrayal, but I’m grateful my children are safe. Love is stronger than betrayal. Nothing will ever come between me and my kids again.