Twelve winters later, the memory of that abandoned stroller still lives in the space between my heartbeats. The girls who once fit beneath a pile of mismatched blankets now stand taller than my shoulders, their hands moving with a confidence that slices through doubt. Our home, once echoing with a different kind of emptiness, is filled with sketches, fabric swatches, and blueprints for a gentler world.
When BrightSteps offered that $530,000 collaboration, it wasn’t just a financial miracle; it was a quiet vindication of every sleepless night, every fight with a school board, every time I answered, “Nothing is wrong with them.” Watching Hannah and Diana sign their names on that contract, I realized the universe hadn’t tested my heart that Tuesday morning—it had handed it back to me, rebuilt. I didn’t rescue them. Loving them rescued me.
