After finding out she couldn’t have a baby, Annie’s doctor gave her another choice: adoption, which led to a girl named Abiona, who couldn’t speak English at first. But when her new daughter learned enough, she told Annie a secret that changed everything.
Annie sat anxiously in Dr. Martinez’s office, surrounded by posters of happy families. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with a comforting demeanor, invited her to sit.
Smiling, Annie asked, “When can we proceed with the fertilization procedure?”
Dr. Martinez took a deep breath before saying, “Unfortunately, the tests show you cannot have children. I’m very sorry.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
Annie’s heart sank. Despite considering IVF, the doctor advised against it due to low success rates and high risks. But she suggested an alternative — adoption — and handed Annie a booklet filled with information and pictures of children needing a home.
***
Annie sat at her kitchen table, the quiet of her home enveloping her as she browsed through the booklet. She was drawn to a photo of a baby, entranced by his innocent, smiling face.
Picking up the phone with trembling hands, she called the adoption agency and made an appointment. A few days later, she met Caitlin, a social worker, who welcomed Annie into her modest office. “Sorry you had to wait,” she said, shaking her head.
“It’s okay, don’t worry,” Annie replied, masking her nervousness.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
They sat and discussed Annie’s career, home life, and desire to adopt. “Can you devote enough time to a child? It’s not just a few hours a day,” Caitlin wondered.
Annie responded, “Yes, I understand. I’m ready to make sacrifices for my child.”
“Adoption can be challenging, especially in the beginning,” Caitlin continued, but ultimately, she approved Annie’s application.
“I understand,” Annie said, her voice firm. “Thank you.”
***
The next morning, Caitlin’s call interrupted Annie’s breakfast. “Hello, Annie?” she inquired.
“Yes, it’s me,” Annie replied.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
“We’ve found a child for you,” the social worker revealed and talked about Abiona, a six-year-old from Congo who didn’t speak English. “Would you like to meet her today?”
“6 years old? No English? I… I need to think about this,” Annie’s voice wavered.
“Of course, take all the time you need. Have a good day,” Caitlin responded, but Annie heard her sighing before hanging up.
Annie spent the rest of the day pondering the idea of adopting a six-year-old. Motherhood typically began with a baby, so going straight into parenting an older child seemed… odd. However, this could be her only shot.
She called Caitlin the next day with a resounding yes, and the social worker arranged a visit with Abiona, who was staying with a foster family.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
***
Arriving at the foster home, Annie knocked on the door, her heart racing. She was greeted by a woman who, in a not particularly friendly tone, said, “Hello, how’s it going?”
“Hi, I’m Annie,” she replied, fidgeting slightly. “I came to see Abiona.”
The woman showed Annie inside, and it was hard not to notice the chaotic scene of her house. Kids were running around, the television blared in the background, and the living room was full of stuff.
But the woman pointed to a corner where Abiona sat, quietly drawing. “That’s her. Good luck because she doesn’t talk to anyone,” she said and left to scold some other kids.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Annie approached the girl, who briefly met her gaze before resuming her drawing. “Did you draw these yourself? They’re imposing,” she asked, kneeling to look closer.
Abiona nodded slightly without speaking.
The foster mother interrupted. “Don’t even try. She doesn’t understand a word of English,” she said. Annie looked up to see her sporting a superior expression.
“That’s fine,” Annie said, focusing entirely on the girl. She sat beside her and began drawing, too, attempting to communicate through pictures.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
She drew a house and a stick figure with long hair, saying, “This is my house. I live here. Do you want to live with me?”
The girl stared for a second at the paper, then at Annie’s face, before drawing a smaller stick figure next to hers. The gesture made Annie grin as her stomach fluttered.
***
She brought Abiona to her home and introduced her to her new cozy bedroom. The girl stayed silent and observant as she explored everything.
When she found paints and brushes laid out, she immediately began to draw, humming a happy tune. Annie watched for a second, taking in the moment. I’m finally a Mom, she thought before joining her new daughter.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Over the following months, Annie tried teaching Abiona English, but the traditional methods overwhelmed her. Therefore, she adapted her approach, using drawing sessions to teach her the language in a fun, engaging way.
Abiona responded positively, slowly learning words and phrases.
One day, while exploring the concept of family with a picture book, Annie pointed to an illustration and said, “See, this is a family,” then pointed to herself, “Mom,” and to Abiona, “Daughter.”
But instead of nodding in understanding, Abiona’s reaction was unexpected; she burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” Annie asked, patting the girl’s head.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Abiona grabbed some of her drawings. “I have Mom and Dad,” she revealed, pointing her finger at the paper. Annie’s eyes widened. She didn’t understand because Caitlin had never talked about Abiona’s family.
“What are you saying, honey?” she asked.
“Bad…bad men took me from Mom and Dad,” the girl continued.
“Okay, okay,” Annie said, her voice turning low and soothing. “Tell me more.”
Through her broken English, Abiona explained that the evil men had taken her, but then she was with the police. She showed Annie a handmade toy, her only memory of her biological mom.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Shutterstock
“I little. Don’t know Mom’s face. But Mom smells honey. She give me this,” Abiona finished, biting her bottom lip and looking away to wipe a tear.
Annie was breathing heavily then, trying to contain her own emotions. A six-year-old shouldn’t have to be so strong by herself. She hugged the little girl, who began sobbing into her chest. Revealing that secret made their bond much stronger.
***
Months later, Abiona suffered a severe coughing fit in the night. Annie rushed her to the hospital as quickly as possible. “I need help! My daughter, she can’t breathe!” she wailed at the emergency room staff.
The medical team quickly attended to her daughter, leaving Annie anxiously waiting outside the exam room. Soon, she was stabilized but surrounded by beeping machines that only made things scarier. But the absolute horror came a few hours after the staff conducted several tests.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
One doctor entered the room, took a deep breath, and began. “I’m very sorry to tell you this. But Abiona is terminally ill. She only has a few days left.”
His words were careful, but they cut through Annie like a knife. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “What’s wrong with her?”
The doctor explained her condition. It had a complicated name that Annie didn’t understand as her mind was fogging with the implications.
“Should I have noticed sooner? She seemed so healthy. I adopted her a few months ago. No one told me anything.”
“You couldn’t have done much even if you had noticed something. This is a genetic disease, and it manifests very unexpectedly. This is not your fault,” the doctor finished, patting her shoulder, and left.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
***
Abiona awoke an hour later.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Annie whispered, squeezing the girl’s hand. “Is there anything you want? Anything I can get for you?”
Abiona’s voice was weak but clear. “I want to see my mom,” she murmured, a wistful look in her eyes.
Annie nodded and, determined to fulfill this wish, left the hospital with Abiona’s handmade toy, hoping it held clues to finding her biological mother. She went to the police station, where they agreed to test the toy for DNA.
Miraculously, they found a match and gave Annie the biological mother’s contact information. Her name was Tendey. Despite the call going unanswered, Annie insisted on finding Abiona’s mother, even if she had to do it in person.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
She drove to Tendey’s address, gathered her courage, and knocked on the door. When a woman appeared, Annie introduced herself and asked, “Tendey?”
The woman responded quickly, impatient. “Yes. That’s me, but I don’t want to join your god. I don’t need any services, and I don’t want to buy anything,” she said, almost closing the door.
But Annie threw her arm up, stopping her. “This is about Abiona,” she blurted. “She is currently in the hospital. The doctor said that she has a serious genetic disease and has a few days to live.”
Annie thought Tendey would be dismayed, but the woman crossed her arms instead. “I gave her away. Voluntarily. Renounced parental rights. So everything that is happening now is not my problem,” Tendey stated coldly.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
“Please. She’s your daughter. She’s dying and wants to see you,” Annie pleaded.
Tendey shook her head. “Listen. I don’t want to see her. Deal with it.”
Looking beyond Tendey, into her house, Annie sighed and noticed something. “Do you sell perfumes? Do you have a honey-scented one?”
“Ugh, yes,” Tendey said, looking behind her, confused.
“How much?” Annie asked.
***
At home, Annie searched on her computer, typing away as her plan fully developed. She searched for an actress resembling Tendey and found Sarah. Annie called and explained the situation.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Sarah was touched. “I’ll do it. It’s a strange request, but I can see it comes from a place of love,” she said. Annie provided all the details she knew about Abiona and her mother.
In the hospital room the next day, Annie and the actress prepared to fulfill Abiona’s last wish. Sprayed with honey-scented perfume, Sarah approached the girl’s bedside, carefully holding her tiny hand.
“Abiona, this is your mother,” Annie gently introduced.
Abiona, whose condition had worsened so much in just a day, believed Annie’s words easily. “You smell like Mom,” the girl whispered and opened her arms for a hug.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Sarah obliged, saying, “It’s because I am Mom.”
Abiona turned to Annie. “Thank you,” she whispered before falling asleep again. Sarah left a while later when it became clear that the girl wouldn’t wake up any time soon.
As the sun set, Annie watched over her daughter. Her breaths were too heavy, but that had been the norm for a few hours. She whispered to her, providing comfort and assurance in the quiet room filled with the soft beeping of machines.
She touched the girl’s head at some point and noticed the intense warmth. In her weakened state, Abiona faintly murmured “Mom” before falling back into unconsciousness. Annie rushed to find her doctor, who came in, did a quick examination, and exhaled, lowering his head.
“I’m afraid this may be it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“No!” Annie wailed, hugging her child.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Unsplash
Abiona slept a little more soundly in Annie’s arms, but love wasn’t always enough. She passed after midnight with a final soft puff of air.
As the tears started flowing freely, Annie whispered, “You were loved. So loved. I’ll keep loving you forever.”
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My Daughter’s In-Laws Took the Money I Sent Her & Treated Her Like the Maid—I Made Sure They Knew It Was a Big Mistake
When I gifted my daughter a house and car for her new life, I never imagined her in-laws would claim it all—and reduce her to their unpaid maid. They crossed a line, and I made sure they’d never forget who really held the keys.
I missed my only daughter’s wedding.
A sad woman | Source: Pexels
I was recovering from surgery abroad. I begged my doctor to let me fly, but he said, “You’re lucky to be standing. Don’t push it.” My heart broke when I saw the pictures from the wedding — Ava in white, her smile so wide it made me cry.
But I couldn’t be there.
A crying woman | Source: Pexels
I wanted to give her something big. Something that showed I was still with her, even from far away. So, I bought her and her husband, Jacob, a house. Not just helped with it — bought it outright.
Same with the car. A little gray SUV. Good for groceries, work, or weekend trips.
A gray SUV | Source: Pexels
Everything was done legally. The house was in my name. So was the car. I trusted them, but life can be strange. It’s easier to gift something later than to get it back once it’s gone.
Once I was well enough, I booked a flight and packed my bags. I couldn’t wait to see her. To hug her. To see her life as a wife. I didn’t tell her I was coming. I wanted it to be a surprise.
A woman sitting on a suitcase | Source: Pexels
But nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.
I let myself in with the key Ava had sent me months ago. The house was quiet. Then I heard something from the kitchen — a soft scrubbing sound.
There she was. My Ava. On her knees. Scrubbing the floor with a bucket and sponge. Her hair was tied back. Her face looked pale.
A woman scrubbing floors | Source: Freepik
In the living room, on the couch, sat Charles and Linda — her in-laws. They were eating lunch, watching TV.
Linda didn’t even look up. “Don’t forget the hallway this time,” she said, chewing loudly.
“Yeah,” Charles added. “This plate’s still dirty. Wash it again.”
I stood there frozen.
Ava saw me and gasped. “Mom? What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to surprise you,” I said softly.
A smiling woman with open arms | Source: Freepik
She got up fast and wiped her hands on her pants. “Let’s talk later, okay? Just… not now.”
Charles glanced at me. “Oh. You must be the mother.”
Linda smiled, tight-lipped. “Nice of you to drop by.”
I didn’t answer. I just watched.
Dinner that night felt like a quiet ache in my chest.
A family dinner | Source: Pexels
Ava moved through the kitchen with tired grace, stirring the pot, flipping the meat, setting the table. She did it all alone, without a word from anyone else. Charles stayed on the couch, glued to the TV, while Linda sat near the window, scrolling through her phone and humming softly to herself.
“It smells a little burnt,” Linda muttered, not even bothering to glance up.
Ava carried the plates over and softly called, “Dinner’s ready.”
A woman setting the table | Source: Pexels
Charles didn’t move. “Bring it here,” he said. “I’m in the middle of something.”
She obeyed without complaint, walking back and forth between the kitchen and the couch. No one said thank you.
Linda took one bite and shook her head. “Too dry. Did you cook this too long?”
Charles grunted. “Needs salt.”
Ava smiled faintly and nodded. “I’ll do better next time.”
A mature woman with her arms folded | Source: Pexels
I watched her carefully. Her hands moved out of habit, her eyes dull with exhaustion. When the meal ended, she quietly cleared the plates and started washing dishes. Not a soul offered to help.
I walked up beside her. “Why are you doing everything?” I asked softly.
She didn’t stop scrubbing. “They’re just staying for a while. It’s temporary.”
“How long has it been?”
A woman washing the dishes | Source: Pexels
She paused. “Since the wedding.”
“And they think Jacob bought the house?”
Ava glanced at me, then looked down. “Yes. I didn’t correct them. It just seemed easier that way.”
I took a deep breath. “Easier for who, sweetheart?”
She didn’t answer.
A sad woman looking to her side | Source: Pexels
That night, I couldn’t sleep. I lay awake, listening to the stillness of the house. My mind kept playing it over — Ava running herself ragged, while Charles and Linda lived like royalty in a home they thought was theirs.
She tiptoed around them like a guest in her own life.
A woman sleeping in her bed | Source: Midjourney
The next morning, I stood at the front window and looked out at the car in the driveway. It was spotless. Not a smudge on the paint. It looked like it hadn’t missed a single outing.
Ava walked by with a basket of laundry, her hair tied back, sleeves rolled up. “Do you ever drive it?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. They use it. I don’t really go anywhere anymore. I don’t have time.”
A woman doing laundry | Source: Pexels
That simple sentence hit me like a stone.
They had taken more than just her space. They had taken her freedom. Her voice. Her joy. I saw it now — how small she’d become in her own home, trying not to offend, trying to keep the peace.
A sad mature woman looking down | Source: Freepik
And Jacob? He was away on another work trip, unaware or unwilling to see what was happening under his own roof. Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe Ava didn’t tell him. Or maybe she thought it wasn’t worth the trouble.
I looked at my daughter — pale, quiet, too polite to ask for more — and I knew I couldn’t leave things the way they were.
Something had to change.
A tired woman holding her head | Source: Pexels
Later that afternoon, I asked everyone to come into the kitchen. Charles shuffled in, remote still in hand. Linda followed, sighing as she sat and crossed her legs.
“What is this, a meeting now?” she said with a smirk.
Ava glanced at me, worried. “Mom?”
I straightened my back. “Yes. A house meeting.”
My voice was steady. My mind was made up. I took a breath and began.
A serious woman in her living room | Source: Freepik
“I’ve been here for two days,” I said calmly. “And I’ve watched my daughter do every bit of cooking, cleaning, laundry, and driving. While the two of you relax like you’re on vacation.”
Linda let out a dry laugh. “We’re guests. We don’t follow housemaid schedules.”
I didn’t blink. “You’re not guests. You’ve been living here for months. Eating, showering, doing laundry, using the car — all without lifting a finger.”
Charles shifted in his chair. “What’s your point?”
A serious mature man | Source: Pexels
“My point,” I said, “is simple. If you live in this house, you contribute. Ava is not your maid.”
Linda rolled her eyes. “You can’t just come in here and change the rules. This is Jacob’s house. Not yours.”
I paused for a moment, then looked her dead in the eye.
“No. It’s not Jacob’s house,” I said. “It’s mine.”
They both froze.
A smiling woman touching her lips | Source: Pexels
“What are you talking about?” Charles asked, his voice rising.
“I bought this house. The deed is in my name. I also bought the car. It’s registered to me.”
Linda’s mouth opened, then closed. Her face turned a shade of red I hadn’t seen before.
“You’re joking,” she finally said.
“I’m not,” I replied. “This house was a gift for Ava — something I wanted her to enjoy when the time was right. But legally, it still belongs to me.”
A mature woman looking to her side | Source: Freepik
Linda took a step forward. “We have nowhere else to go! You can’t just kick us out!”
I looked at her, calm as ever. “That’s not Ava’s responsibility. Or mine.”
“But we’re family—”
“No,” I interrupted. “You’re extended family, not royalty. If you want to stay, you pull your weight. If not, you can pack your things and go.”
Silence fell. You could hear the hum of the refrigerator.
An angry mature woman pointing at the camera | Source: Freepik
Ava stood frozen, lips parted.
I turned to her and softened my tone. “Sweetheart, you deserve better than this. This is your home. And it’s time you lived in it like it is.”
Ava swallowed hard. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Then, barely above a whisper, she said, “Thank you.”
That was enough.
A smiling young woman | Source: Freepik
Within the week, Charles and Linda packed up and left. No big farewell. Just a slammed door and the sound of tires on gravel.
Ava collapsed into my arms that evening, her body shaking. “I didn’t know how to say no,” she cried.
“You don’t have to explain,” I said, holding her tight. “You were trying to keep the peace. But peace isn’t peace if it costs you everything.”
A woman drinking tea with her daughter | Source: Pexels
We spent the next few days reclaiming her space. We rearranged the furniture, cleaned the closets, and opened every window in the house. Sunlight poured in. Ava laughed more. She moved easier. She started humming while making coffee.
On Saturday, I tossed her the keys. “Let’s take that car for a spin.”
We drove with the windows down, wind in our hair, music playing loud. For the first time in months, I saw her smile without effort.
A happy woman driving | Source: Pexels
That night, as we sat in the quiet living room, she rested her head on my shoulder.
“I forgot what it felt like to be me,” she whispered.
I kissed the top of her head.
She’s not a maid. She’s not a servant. She’s my daughter. And no one gets to forget that.
A woman hugging her mother | Source: Pexels
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