Love isn’t supposed to have conditions. But for my sister, it did. Without guilt, she gave up her adopted daughter after having a biological son.

When our family visited to celebrate her newborn, I brought a gift for Lily, my goddaughter. But when I arrived, all traces of her were gone.

“Where’s Lily?” I asked.

Erin shrugged. “I gave her back. She wasn’t really mine.”

The words hit like a slap. “She called you ‘Mommy’ for two years!”

“I always wanted to be a boy mom,” she said dismissively.

Disgusted, I left. But karma arrived swiftly—a knock at the door. CPS workers stepped in. “We’re investigating concerns about your ability to provide a stable home.”

Erin paled. “You can’t take my baby!”

No one took him—yet. But Erin faced consequences. Meanwhile, I fought for Lily. Months of paperwork, interviews, and searching led me to a foster home.

When I saw her, my heart broke. “Auntie Angie?” she whispered.

Tears blurred my vision. “I missed you, Lily-bug.”

She clung to me. “Mommy left. Was I bad?”

“You did nothing wrong,” I promised.

After months of legal battles, she came home.

“Welcome home, sweetheart,” I whispered as she ran into my arms.

Years later, at her birthday, she laughed in the yard, surrounded by love. I held her latest drawing—our family, covered in butterflies and hearts.

She was home. Where she always should have been.