Emma’s illness had quietly drained the color from our home. Laughter had become a memory, replaced by the beeping of hospital machines and the rustle of test results. Then two frightened girls appeared in the snow, and everything shifted. Watching Willow and Elizabeth drape scarves around themselves and turn my daughter’s room into a stage, I saw Emma’s eyes light up with a joy I thought cancer had stolen forever. She wasn’t just entertained; she was alive again, leaning forward, giggling, forgetting for a moment that her body was failing her.
That morning, when I rushed in, ready to scold, Emma reached for my hand and whispered, “Mum, can they stay? They make it not hurt so much.” In that instant, I knew these girls weren’t a burden or a mistake; they were a gift. The adoption paperwork was grueling, but worth every signature. We didn’t just rescue two abandoned twins; together, we became a new family, stitching four broken hearts into one.
