Meeting James’s parents was supposed to be a milestone, but from the moment I stepped into their home, something felt off. As James introduced me to his mother, Annabelle, and his father, Robins, an eerie familiarity washed over me. The scent of lavender, the faces—everything seemed strangely known.
Then I saw it—a photograph of a little girl with big brown eyes and a gap-toothed smile. My heart stopped. That girl was me. Memories I had buried long ago came rushing back. The smell of lavender, bedtime stories, and warm hugs—this was the home I’d been taken from as a child after my mother’s death. Annabelle and Robins were my foster parents, the ones I had forgotten but who had loved me deeply.
When I confronted them, tears filled Annabelle’s eyes. “We tried to adopt you, but the system took you away. We never saw you again.”
James was shocked, “Mom, Dad, why didn’t you tell me?”
The revelation was overwhelming. As we talked, laughed, and cried, old memories resurfaced. The love they had shown me during that brief time in their home had left an indelible mark on my heart, even if I hadn’t remembered.
As we left, Annabelle hugged me tightly, “You’ll always have a home here, Sandra.”
James squeezed my hand on the drive back, “This is a lot to process, but we’ll get through it together.”
I nodded, knowing I had found something priceless—a family I had once lost, now found.
