I am Natalie, 34 years old. Ten years ago, my sister, Amanda, left her three-month-old baby on my doorstep and vanished. My parents refused to help, coldly stating, “She’s your burden now.” I raised my niece, Lily, as my own, creating a beautiful life together.
Then Amanda returned with my parents, suing me for custody, claiming I kept them apart.
Today in court, I handed the judge a sealed folder.
His eyes widened as he asked, “Do they even know what you have?” I just nodded, ready to speak. Get comfortable, because this story about how I fought for the daughter of my heart will show you what true family really means.
Before Lily came into my life, I had everything figured out.
I was a pediatric head nurse at Memorial Hospital and in a two-year relationship with Mark, an architect. We had started talking about moving in together, and life seemed to be following the perfect timeline I had imagined for myself.
That all changed on a rainy Tuesday night in October.
I had just gotten home from a 12-hour shift.
The doorbell rang around 9:30. I almost ignored it, but when it rang again, more insistently, I reluctantly got up. What I found changed my life forever.
A car seat sat on my welcome mat, covered with a thin blanket.
When I pulled back the blanket, I found a tiny baby girl, maybe three months old, with rosy cheeks and a wisp of dark hair, just like my sister.
Tucked into the side of the car seat was a folded note. I immediately recognized Amanda’s handwriting.
Her name is Lily.
I cannot do this. Take care of her.
I am sorry.
That was it.
Seven words that shifted my entire existence. I looked up and down the street, but there was no sign of Amanda. I called her cell phone; it went straight to voicemail.
I brought Lily inside, my hands shaking.
She was sleeping peacefully, unaware that her mother had just abandoned her.
My first call after trying Amanda was to my parents. Their response still makes my stomach churn.
“We told her not to have that baby,” my mother said coldly. “She made her choice, and now she is running away from it.
Typical Amanda.”
“But what should I do?” I asked, panic rising in my voice.
“I cannot just keep a baby. I don’t know anything about caring for an infant.”
“She is your burden now,” my father said firmly. “We are done cleaning up after Amanda.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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