I turned away from my daughter right after she was born, but later took her back—and it saved me.
Life can throw challenges at you when you’re least prepared—emotionally, physically, mentally. I battled cancer, dealt with loneliness, faced the fear of motherhood… and almost gave up the most precious thing I had. But at the last moment, I changed my mind.
My name is Emily, I’m 31 now, and I’m from London. But everything I want to tell you about happened far from home, in a country where I didn’t know the language or the people. It was there that I became a mother. And it was there that I nearly left my daughter behind.
When I was 24, I received a diagnosis that made my world crumble—cervical cancer. Everything happened quickly: surgery, recovery, fears. The doctors said it was unlikely I would have children. I didn’t argue—I just accepted it. I decided that my life would take a different path. Without a family, without children. Chasing a career, freedom, and travel.
And so it went. I carved out a successful career in the finance sector, moved to Austria on a contract, and traveled half the world. I had relationships with men but without commitment. I didn’t allow myself to fall in love or make plans. I lived only halfway, and even that seemed enough—or so I thought.
One day, I started feeling odd—weak, dizzy. I blamed it on fatigue. But during a routine check-up, the gynecologist dropped a bombshell:
— You’re pregnant. Four months along.
I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t I supposed to be infertile? How? It must be a mistake. But no, it was confirmed.
Panic set in. Shock. I didn’t want this child. I had no steady partner, no plan, no desire to be a mother. I told no one—not my parents, not my friends, not my colleagues. I kept everything hidden. I wore loose clothing, hardly gained any weight, and tried to ignore what was happening.
Finally, in the ninth month, I clung to a fixed idea—to go on a long-planned trip to South America, something I’d dreamed of since my youth. Everything was pre-paid, and I thought, why not? So I flew to Brazil. And there, amid the tropical rains and Portuguese chatter, I went into labor.
I gave birth in a small hospital not far from São Paulo and named my daughter Lily. I felt nothing but exhaustion and fear. I even thought about leaving her there, in a country where no one knew anyone.
But the poverty I witnessed overwhelmed me. I realized that if I was going to leave Lily, it should at least be at home, in England. I reached out to the embassy, and they helped me sort out her documents. With difficulty, and after several connections, I made it back home.
I was exhausted, broke, and had a newborn in my arms. The next day, without thinking, I took her to a children’s home. I explained that I couldn’t cope. The social workers didn’t judge me. They simply took her in.
I went home, collapsed into bed, and… felt empty. Everything seemed — as though it was happening to someone else. Two days later, I returned to work.
But after a couple of weeks, I got a call from the orphanage.
— There seems to be something wrong with your girl. She won’t eat. Doesn’t respond. She only cries.
I went there. I didn’t know why. Maybe just to confirm it wasn’t my fault. But when I saw her—thin, with lifeless eyes, wrapped in a stranger’s blanket—something clicked within me.
She recognized me. Didn’t cry. Didn’t smile. Just looked—as if she had been waiting. And I understood: she was mine. She needed me as much as I needed her.
I went home and didn’t sleep the entire night. In the morning, I went to work and told everyone—my boss, my colleagues, my friends. I didn’t want to hide anymore.
A week later, I brought Lily home.
At first, it was tough. Sleepless nights, fear, exhaustion. But with each day, she became stronger, and so did I. We grew used to one another. Became a family.
Lily is now three years old. She laughs, runs around the flat, sings songs. And I’m living again. Truly. Without a mask, without running away. I’m a mum. And even though it’s just the two of us, we are happy.
I don’t know if I’ll ever meet a man who will love us both. But it doesn’t matter anymore. The important thing is, I found the courage once to choose love over fear. And I don’t regret it for a second.
Lily is my salvation. And my redemption.
