I grew up in a children’s home where family was temporary and love was scarce. The only constant was Nora, the girl who became my sister in every way that mattered. We promised each other we’d always be family, and we kept that promise into adulthood, even as life pulled us in different directions.
When Nora had her son Leo, I showed up—helping however I could, never asking questions she wasn’t ready to answer. Then one night, she was killed in a car accident, leaving behind a two-year-old boy with no one else. I didn’t hesitate. I adopted Leo and became his father, determined he would never grow up unwanted the way we had.
Years later, after I remarried, we discovered a hidden video inside Leo’s stuffed bunny. In it, Nora explained that Leo’s biological father had chosen to leave, and she’d hidden the truth to protect her son. Leo had found the video years earlier and lived in fear that if we knew, we’d abandon him too.
Holding him as he finally cried, I understood what family really is. It isn’t blood or biology—it’s who stays, who chooses you, even when the truth is hard. Leo is my son not because of genetics, but because love decided so.
