I was doing my usual grocery shopping when I suddenly found a little girl sitting in my cart. She looked up at me with big, scared eyes and whispered, “Don’t give me back, I’m scared.” At that moment, I knew my life was about to change.
My career was steady, and my life was well-organized. I took pride in the independence I had built over the years. Being single didn’t bother me. I enjoyed the freedom and simplicity of my life, without many responsibilities beyond my job and daily routine.
My daily routines, though simple, brought me comfort. After my sister Melissa lost her job, I let her stay with me. She was family, after all. She had a tendency to take control of things, but I hoped she’d get back on her feet soon.
That day started like any other. I went grocery shopping, as I did every week. The simple act of shopping made me feel in control.
Walking through the aisles, I focused on my list. Halfway through, I turned to grab a box of cereal, and when I looked back at my cart, there was… a little girl!
She was sitting in the basket. I blinked, confused.
“Hi! Where’s your mommy?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she whispered, gripping the cart tightly.
I froze, trying to understand what was happening. I looked around, expecting to see a parent nearby, but there was no one.
“What’s your name?” I asked gently, crouching to her level.
“Lily,” she whispered softly.
I looked around again, but the store was full of busy strangers. What should I do? Leave her and wait for someone? But what if no one came?
“Well, Lily,” I said softly, “let’s find someone who can help us, okay?”
I slowly pushed the cart, scanning the aisles for her parents. After 20 minutes, it was clear—no one was coming for her.
Just as I was about to call the police, she looked up at me with tear-filled eyes and whispered, “Don’t give me back, I’m scared.”
Before I knew it, I had taken her home.
Everything felt surreal. Lily, a scared little girl, sat at my kitchen table, eating a sandwich, her eyes following me as if I was her only safety.
The front door opened, and Melissa walked in. I knew this wouldn’t go over well.
“What is this?” she asked, her eyes locking on Lily.
“I found her at the grocery store,” I explained, trying to stay calm.
“Found her?!” Melissa exclaimed. “You can’t just bring home a child! Do you even know where she came from?”
“No, but she was alone,” I replied. “I couldn’t leave her there.”
“You can’t fix everything, Rachel. This is a bad idea.”
“I called James,” I said, mentioning my detective friend. “He’s looking into it. We’ll figure it out.”
Melissa sighed in frustration but muttered nothing else. My focus stayed on Lily.
The next morning, my fears came true. There was a knock at the door. Social services had arrived.
Melissa acted fast, as she always did when worried. I knew I couldn’t keep Lily, no matter how much I wanted to.
“We’ll take her into care,” a social worker said gently.
I looked at Lily, who was clutching the table.
“I… I just need a minute,” I stammered.
I knelt by Lily. “Sweetie, you have to go with them for now. They’re going to help you.”
Her big eyes met mine. “Please, don’t give me back. I’m scared.”
Her words broke my heart, but before I could say more, the social workers took her away.
Suddenly, my phone rang. It was James, his voice serious.
“Rachel, I found something. Her name’s Lily. She’s run away from home before, but they’ve never found anything wrong.”
“Do you have their address? Send it to me, please.”
Later, Melissa began criticizing me again. “This is why I called social services. You’re acting impulsively.”
“A mess? You think this is a mess?” I snapped. “Lily needed help, and I wasn’t going to abandon her. Maybe focus on your own life before judging mine.”
Melissa stayed silent. I grabbed my keys and left, determined to figure things out.
When I arrived at Lily’s house, something felt off. The house was neglected, the yard overgrown. I knocked, and a pale woman opened the door—Lily’s mother, Gloria.
“I’m Rachel. I’ve been caring for Lily,” I explained.
At her daughter’s name, Gloria’s expression filled with sadness. She let me in.
“I know I can’t take care of her anymore,” Gloria admitted, her voice heavy with defeat.
“Gloria,” I said gently, “you love her, but she needs more right now. Let me help.”
Gloria wiped her eyes. “I tried… after her father died.”
“You don’t have to do this alone. I’ll care for her while you get back on your feet. We’ll figure this out together.”
“You’d do that?” she asked.
“Yes. Lily needs to be safe. I’ll take care of her for now, and when you’re ready, she can come back.”
Gloria nodded, and we talked about a plan for her to visit Lily and work toward getting her back.
Just then, social services arrived. Lily ran to her mother, hugging her tightly.
“I’m here, baby,” Gloria whispered. After a few moments, Lily walked back to me.
I spoke with social workers and Gloria about the plan. Lily would stay with me temporarily, and we would reassess Gloria’s situation in a few months.
“It’s time to go, sweetie,” I said, holding Lily’s hand.
Gloria gave her a nod. “Be good, okay?”
From that day on, life changed for both of us. Lily adjusted, and we found comfort in new routines.
One night, she asked, “Will I see Mom again?”
“Yes, sweetie,” I assured her. “When she’s ready. And until then, you’re safe here.”
Through this journey, I learned that love sometimes means knowing when to let go and trust in the future.
People Tell Me My Son Should Be Taken From Me After Covering 95% of My Body in Ink
With tattoos becoming increasingly popular, it is not uncommon to come across individuals who have extensive body art. Unfortunately, some people face criticism and even calls for their children to be taken from them. One such case is that of a Canadian man named Remy who has spent over $100,000 on tattoos and has encountered criticism on social media, with some people telling him he’s not a suitable father.
He doesn’t feel guilty about being a tattooed dad.
Despite his extensive amount of ink, Remy doesn’t feel guilty about his tattoos, nor does he believe they’ve changed who he is as a person or a father. He says, “Tattoos and piercings haven’t changed at all, so I wasn’t worried that my son would see me differently.”
But the man has been criticized for not being a stereotypical father.
Remy shared that he has received online comments suggesting that his son should be taken away from him due to his appearance. He stated, “I’ve had a few people say things like my son should be taken from me because of how I look, but this is only ever online.”
He continued, “My argument to that would be that if you think that way, you should never have children yourself.”
Remy added that while people stare at him in public, they only say nice things and ask questions about his tattoos. “People stare a bit [in public] but they only say nice things and ask how long it took, how I handle the pain, and generally compliment my work,” he attests.
His child is nonchalant toward his father’s tattoos.
Remy’s first tattoo was of his son’s name, but since then, he has become obsessed with getting more and more ink. His son never really noticed his tattoos.
“He’s never really noticed them, as I was already pretty different looking [when he was born in 2009] — it’s completely normal for him. As he’s gotten older, he’s become very nonchalant, and it’s actually made him more tolerant of people being different looking, I believe,” Remy says.
In fact, Remy’s son’s favorite tattoo is the eye on his stomach and chest.
Being a good parent has nothing to do with superficial looks.
While some may argue that Remy’s tattoos make him an unfit parent, it’s important to remember that body modification is a personal choice and doesn’t necessarily reflect one’s ability to be a good parent. As long as a parent is providing a safe and loving environment for their child, their appearance should not be a factor in determining their ability to care for their children.
One of Remy’s fans explained things in a wonderful way.
As one commenter on Remy’s story put it, “You give the cloth and care about what you do. As long as you can put a roof over your child’s head, it’s not anyone’s job.” Ultimately, it’s up to each individual to decide how they want to present themselves to the world, and that decision should not be used to judge their worth as a parent.
As we conclude this story of unfair judgment and inked journeys, it’s only the beginning of our exploration into the world of those living tattooed lives. In our next article, we’ll introduce you to a mom whose 800 tattoos have become a barrier to employment, shedding light on the surprising consequences of living life fully inked.
Preview photo credit ephemeral_remy / Instagram, ephemeral_remy / Instagram
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