After years of failed fertility treatments and heartbreak, my wife, Elodie, and I decided to adopt. It wasn’t a backup plan—it felt like the right path. That’s how we found Emilie, a bright and loving four-year-old who called us “Mommy” and “Daddy” the moment we met. From day one, it felt like she was meant to be ours.

Just a month after bringing her home, I came back from work and Emilie came running. She wrapped herself around my legs, crying.

“I don’t want to leave,” she sobbed. “Please, let me stay with you and Mommy.”

My stomach dropped. “No one’s taking you away,” I said, hugging her tight. But over her shoulder, I saw Elodie in the hallway—pale, tense.

When Emilie went to her room, Elodie turned to me and said something I’ll never forget:

“We have to give her back.”

She was overwhelmed. Tired. Emilie had spilled paint on her wedding dress, broken dishes, and had loud, messy tantrums. Elodie saw it not as trauma or fear, but as defiance. She felt like our life—the one we’d worked so hard to build—was falling apart.

“She’s manipulating us,” she said. “It’s her or me.”

I didn’t hesitate.

“I choose her.”

Elodie packed her bags and left.

The days that followed weren’t easy. Emilie missed her mom and didn’t understand what was happening. But I stayed. I showed up for her every single day—reading bedtime stories, holding her when she cried, sitting with her through her fears. Slowly, the light came back into her eyes.

A few weeks later, Elodie returned. She said she regretted leaving and wanted to try again.

But I looked at her and said, “You didn’t just leave me. You left her, too.”

It’s been a year now. Emilie still startles at loud voices. She still clings to my hand when she’s nervous. But she laughs more. She sleeps through the night. And every night before bed, she asks me:

“You’ll never leave me, right?”

And every night, I give her the only answer she’ll ever need:

“Never.”