The night before my wedding, my fiancé, Grant, disappeared—and so did my sister, Catherine. The dress was hanging, the venue set. I thought it was cold feet… until Dad called. Catherine was gone. So was the wedding fund. Witnesses saw them—together—at the pier.

I was the responsible sister. The planner. Catherine? Always reckless and beautiful. I sat frozen the next morning, unable to cry.

They were seen driving west. No note. No goodbye. Just silence—for a year.

Eventually, I rebuilt. I sold the ring, moved cities, and started over. Then I met Declan—gentle, steady. We got engaged. Life felt safe again.

Then Grant returned. Hair unkempt, baby in his arms.

“This is Grace,” he said. “Catherine left us.”

I shut the door.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about the child. Declan listened. Supported me. Slowly, I began seeing Grace. She clung to me. Smiled. Slept on my chest. We fed her, raised her, loved her. When she was 12, I adopted her. Grace Catherine.

Then, on Grace’s 13th birthday, Catherine returned—broke, lost.

“I want to see her,” she said.

“No,” I replied. “You can have ten thousand dollars or a glimpse of her. Not both.”

She chose the money.

Grace asked me once, “Did she ever love me?”

“I think she couldn’t love anyone the way they needed,” I said. “But I do. Always.”

Everyone remembers the day their life changed. Mine wasn’t the day I lost everything—but the day I opened the door… and the day I kept it closed.