I gave up my daughter right after she was born, but then I took her back — and it saved me.
Sometimes life challenges you not when you’re ready, but when you’re at your lowest — emotionally, physically, spiritually. I went through cancer, loneliness, the fear of motherhood… and almost gave up the most precious thing I had. But at the last minute — I changed my mind.
My name is Emily, I’m 31 now, and I’m from London. But everything I’m about to share happened far from home — in a country where I didn’t know the language or anyone. It was there that I became a mother. And it was there that I almost gave up on my daughter.
At 24, I was diagnosed with something that makes the ground disappear beneath your feet — cervical cancer. It all happened quickly: surgery, recovery, fears. The doctors told me that I probably wouldn’t be able to have children. I didn’t argue — just accepted it. I decided my life would take a different path. Without a family, without children. With a career, travel, freedom.
And that’s how it was. I built a successful career in the finance sector, took a contract in Austria, and traveled half the world. I had affairs with men, but without commitments. I didn’t allow myself to fall in love, didn’t make plans. Lived as if halfway. And it seemed enough — or I thought it was.
One day I started feeling something strange — weakness, dizziness. I blamed it on exhaustion. But the gynecologist, whom I visited for routine care, dropped a bombshell:
— You’re pregnant. In the fourth month.
I couldn’t believe it. I was… infertile? How? A mistake? No. It was all confirmed.
Panic ensued. Shock. I didn’t want this baby. I had no steady partner, no plan, no desire to be a mother. I told no one — not my parents, not friends, not colleagues. I hid everything. Wore loose clothing, barely gained weight, tried to ignore what was happening.
And then — the ninth month. A fixed idea — to go on a holiday to South America, something I’d dreamed of since youth. Everything was prepaid, so I thought: why not? I flew to Argentina. And there, amid tropical rains and Spanish conversations, I went into labor.
I gave birth in a small hospital near Cordoba. I named my daughter Ella. I felt nothing. Just exhaustion and fear. I even considered leaving her there, in this country where nobody knew anyone.
But the poverty I saw there horrified me. I realized: if I were to leave Ella, it should at least be back home in England. I contacted the embassy, and they helped me with her paperwork. With difficulty and many layovers, I returned home.
I was worn out, penniless, with a newborn in my arms. The next day, without hesitation, I took her to an orphanage. I explained that I couldn’t cope. The social workers didn’t judge. They just silently accepted her.
I went home, fell into bed and… felt emptiness. Everything was — as if it wasn’t happening to me. Two days later, I went back to work.
But a few weeks later, I received a call from the shelter.
— There’s something wrong with your little girl. She’s not eating. Not responding. Only crying.
I went there. I don’t know why. Maybe I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t my fault. But when I saw her — skinny, with dim eyes, wrapped in a stranger’s blanket — something clicked inside me.
She recognized me. Didn’t cry. Didn’t smile. Just looked at me — as if she had been waiting. And I understood: she’s mine. She needs me as much as I need her.
I went home and stayed up all night. The next morning, I went to work and told everything — to my boss, colleagues, friends. I didn’t want to lie anymore.
A week later, I took Ella home.
At first, it was tough. Sleepless nights, fear, exhaustion. But each day she got stronger, and I grew more resilient. We got used to each other. Became a family.
Ella is three now. She laughs, runs around the house, sings songs. And I — I’m living again. Truly. Without masks, without running away. I’m a mum. And though it’s just the two of us, we’re happy.
I don’t know if I’ll ever meet a man who will love us both. But that doesn’t matter anymore. What’s important is that I once gathered my strength and chose love over fear. And I don’t regret it for a second.
Ella is my salvation. And my redemption.
