I’ll never forget the day everything changed. I had just gotten home from a long day at work, ready to relax when there was a knock at the door. It was my best friend, Christina, looking frazzled. She asked me to watch her kids, Dylan and baby Mike, for an hour. Something in her eyes told me she was desperate, so I agreed.

That hour turned into days. Christina never returned. After filing a missing person report, I became the boys’ caregiver. Weeks turned into months, and they started calling me “Mom.” I couldn’t imagine my life without them, so I adopted them.

Seven years later, we were on vacation when Dylan spotted someone familiar at the beach. “Is that her?” he asked, pointing. It was Christina, but she claimed not to recognize us. Dylan confronted her, angry and hurt, but she said nothing.

Later, at the hotel, I was shocked when Christina—now a cleaning lady—came to our room. She broke down, explaining that leaving was her only option back then. Despite her regret, Dylan coldly shut the door in her face, choosing me as his true mother.

We left the seaside town, the boys knowing that our bond was unbreakable. Whatever had happened, we had found strength in each other, and that was all that mattered.