My Sister Returned Her Adopted Daughter—So I Stepped In (2 of 3)

We stepped inside, and I scanned the living room. No dolls, no crayon drawings on the fridge, no framed photos of Lily. The space was eerily sterile. I turned to Erin, laughing nervously.

“Where’s Lily?”

She didn’t miss a beat. “Oh,” she said, almost casually. “I gave her back.”

I stared at her, certain I’d misunderstood. “You… what?”

Our parents froze behind me, waiting for her to clarify.

“I always dreamed of having my own child,” Erin continued. “Now that Caleb’s here, there’s just no need for Lily anymore. She’ll be fine—they’ll place her with someone else.”

I couldn’t process what I was hearing. “You were her someone,” I said, my voice shaking. “She called you Mom. For two years.”

Erin shrugged, unbothered. “She wasn’t mine, not really. It’s not like I gave away my own child. Lily was just… temporary.”

My stomach turned. How could someone be so cold? So calculated?

That little girl had been more than my goddaughter. She was a comfort through my miscarriages, a light in the darkest corners of my grief. She was family. And now Erin had handed her back like she was returning a dress that didn’t fit.

The fight that followed was ugly. Erin claimed I was overreacting. Said I didn’t understand motherhood. But before I could respond, a knock echoed through the hallway.