The decision came unexpectedly.
Emma and her mum had always lived alone. For as long as she could remember, Emma had never met her father. As a child, she never even wondered about him—who he was, where he went. Now, she liked to imagine he might’ve been some kind of war hero or a pilot. They didn’t have any other family because her mum had grown up in an orphanage since she was six.
Her mum never got the chance to tell Emma about the relationship with her father. He probably wasn’t even her husband, and now there was no one left to ask.
**Life in the Care Home**
At thirteen, Emma’s world shattered when her mum passed away—weak heart. She remembered how her mum would clutch at her chest and wince in pain.
“I never even realised how serious it was,” Emma admitted to herself. “I just thought she’d get better, like she always did, and be her cheerful self again.”
But now Emma was alone. The wings that had sheltered her from the world were gone, and she had to grow up fast. She was sent to a care home.
Life there was tough, especially at night when no one watched over them. The other kids could be cruel—name-calling, fights. Emma tried to keep to herself, but she still ended up on the wrong side of the older kids sometimes.
She hated how she looked—small for her age at thirteen, skinny, with a turned-up nose and freckles. School was the one thing that came easy to her.
**A New Family**
She wasn’t in the care home long—maybe a year—but it felt like forever. Luckily, her mum had an old friend from the home, Claire, who stepped in before Emma could become a permanent ward of the state.
“How do we go about fostering Emma?” Claire asked the director when she and her husband, Robert, came to visit.
The director studied them, seemed satisfied, then asked for their paperwork.
“Did you know the girl or her mother before this?”
“Not Emma, but her mum and I grew up together here,” Claire said, while Robert nodded. “I only just found out she’d passed, so I tracked down her daughter.”
The director explained everything, and soon, the paperwork was sorted. Emma went home with Claire and Robert. They already had two kids—James, nearly sixteen, and twelve-year-old Lily. Emma tried to befriend them from the start, but it never took. They saw her as an outsider, especially since their parents doted on her.
To them, she was just some strange girl who’d stolen their mum’s attention.
If Emma asked James anything, he’d turn and walk off without a word. Lily wouldn’t talk to her either—when Claire wasn’t looking, she’d stick her tongue out or pull faces.
“Maybe it’s my fault,” Emma would murmur, staring at herself in the mirror. “Maybe I’m just too ugly. Small eyes, freckles—who’d ever like me?”
She wasn’t *that* bad-looking, just awkward, like any teenager. But next to Lily—with her bouncy curls (Emma’s hair was dead straight and mousy)—she felt plain.
Claire tried her best to be kind, but she and Robert were always busy running their small estate agency. They didn’t have much time to spare for the kids. At least theirs were well-behaved—no major trouble.
“Our kids have taken to Emma so well,” Claire would sometimes say, and Robert would nod.
“Could’ve been worse. Some foster kids never fit in.”
They thought everything was fine because, on the surface, it was. Emma never complained, and neither did James or Lily. But beneath the calm, emotions were storming.
**Growing Pains**
At thirteen, Emma had to face the harsh truth—life wasn’t fair.
“I miss Mum’s warmth,” she’d think to herself. “No one tells me to wear a hat in winter now or fusses when I catch a cold. She used to read me bedtime stories, blow on my scraped knees, dab on the antiseptic, and wipe away my tears. No one does that anymore. Even in a nice house, with food and clothes, it’s not the same without family.”
She never argued with James or Lily, always respected Claire and Robert. She was grateful just to be out of the care home, to be fed and clothed as well as their own kids.
“Claire’s lovely, but she’ll never be Mum,” Emma would think before falling asleep. “Still, I’ll try my best to make them happy.”
And she *did* try—too hard sometimes. She craved affection and would nuzzle up to Claire, not realising she had to do it where James and Lily wouldn’t see. The second Claire hugged Emma, the other two would sulk, jealous, and stomp off. Eventually, Emma learned to hide her feelings.
By the time she finished school, Emma had done well enough to tell Claire, “I’m applying to teacher training college.”
“That’s wonderful, Emma. Education’s important—we’ll help however we can,” Claire said, genuinely pleased.
**Studies and Summer Camps**
She got in and did well. After her first year, she heard about a summer camp needing student helpers. Emma jumped at the chance—anything to avoid going home to Lily’s glares.
Some of the kids were from care homes. Emma treated them differently—she *understood*. Their reactions to even the smallest kindness broke her heart.
“You stroke their hair *once*,” she told a friend, “and suddenly they’re following you everywhere.”
It was this that shaped her decision.
“When I get married, I’ll adopt a child from care,” she vowed. “At least one will know love because of me.”
It wasn’t planned—just happened.
She worked at camps every summer after that, loving every minute.
**Love in Final Year**
By graduation, she was dating Michael, a shy lad from her course who blushed whenever he saw her. After a student dance, they were inseparable. By then, Emma didn’t think herself ugly anymore. She’d grown into a striking, serious young woman.
“I owe Claire so much,” she told Michael. “She taught me how to act, took me to the salon, helped me with makeup—even got me counselling once. She made sure Lily didn’t know, though. ‘She’d be jealous,’ Claire said. But I *knew* that already.”
“Does she know about me?” Michael asked.
“Of course. She was the first I told. I even promised if we had a girl, I’d name her Claire.”
“Emma,” Michael said one day, “let’s get married. I’ve got no family”—he’d been in care since eight—”you’re all I have.”
She said yes—she’d been thinking the same. They married, and a year later, Emma had a daughter—Claire, named after her foster mum.
**Fulfilling the Promise**
When little Claire was two, Emma was idly scrolling online when she saw a photo of a seven-year-old boy named Jake. He looked *just* like Michael.
Then she remembered her vow—to adopt.
“Mike, come look! Jake could be your double. Let’s take him home—he could be ours.”
Michael wasn’t surprised—she’d mentioned it before. Struck by the resemblance, he agreed without hesitation.
“You’ll need to complete foster parent training first,” they were told.
They did, even worked through their own doubts. Finally, Jake came home.
At seven, sharp as a tack, he asked straight away, “Do you want me? Will you be my mum and dad?”
“Yes,” they said. “We want a son—*you*.”
It wasn’t smooth at first. Jake was guarded, nervous. But Emma and Michael won him over, and before long, he and little Claire were thick as thieves—even if she didn’t quite understand yet.
“How do you manage?” Claire asked once. “I know it’s not easy.”
“It’s not,” Emma admitted. “There are wobbles—school, friends. But we’re getting there.”
Soon after, she had better news.
“Jake’s thriving—bright, friendly. All the rough patches are behind us. He adores his sister, plays football, even draws well. We got lucky—he’s wonderful.”
