**Diary Entry – June 14th**
Years ago, my family finally realised a long-held dream—we moved into a spacious three-bedroom house. Our old two-bedroom terrace had grown too cramped with our two sons, and my husband’s work was thriving. The move wasn’t just a change of scenery; it also brought new friendships. Next door lived a young couple, Thomas and Emily, with their little girl, Lily. Over time, we became inseparable—celebrating holidays together, taking weekend trips to the countryside, the children playing like siblings.
Then, life took a dark turn. Thomas, once so full of life, was diagnosed with a terminal illness. Emily withdrew, her laughter vanishing. I did all I could—cooking meals, making her tea, looking after Lily—but the doctors offered no hope. When Thomas passed, it felt like a piece of us had been torn away. Emily became a ghost of herself, shutting everyone out. Only little Lily still came by, seeking warmth and quiet in our home.
One morning, Lily turned up at our door, hungry. I went to check on Emily and found her asleep on the floor, the flat reeking of alcohol, the fridge empty. No matter how I pleaded, she wouldn’t listen. Meanwhile, Lily spent more time with us, her laughter slowly returning. My husband and I had always wanted a daughter—and here she was, as if fate had sent her.
Then came the day I heard shouting outside. Emily, slurring her words, was dragging Lily away.
“Lily, hurry up!” she snapped.
“I don’t want to! I want to stay with Auntie Margaret!” Lily sobbed.
I rushed down. Emily was furious, unsteady on her feet.
“Emily, stop this! You’re in no state—”
“She’s *my* child!” she screamed, then suddenly shoved Lily toward me. “Take her! Do what you want with her—I don’t care anymore!”
I held Lily close, whispering, “I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re safe now.”
After that, she stayed with us. The courts stripped Emily’s parental rights, and we adopted Lily. We moved to a quieter town. My sons grew up, started families, and Lily went to university—where she met her husband. We stayed in touch, letters and calls keeping us close.
Then, one morning, I woke to her voice:
“Mum, wake up—we’re here!”
There she stood, glowing, suitcases in hand.
“Just visiting?” I asked through tears.
“No. For good. We’re buying a house here—my hometown.”
“You’ll stay *here*! There’s plenty of room!” I hugged her—then noticed her hand resting on her stomach.
“Lily…?”
“Four months along, Mum.”
Tears welled up. The house filled with light again—new life. When our grandson was born, my heart swelled. Watching my family together, I knew: once, fate had chosen for us. And it chose right.
**Lesson:** Sometimes, life’s hardest turns lead us exactly where we’re meant to be.
