I gave up my daughter right after she was born but later took her back — it was my salvation.
Sometimes life challenges you when you’re at your lowest — emotionally, physically, mentally. I faced cancer, loneliness, and the fear of motherhood… and almost abandoned 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 Manchester. Yet, everything I’m about to share 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 gave up my daughter.
When I was 24, I received a diagnosis that makes the ground disappear beneath your feet — cervical cancer. Everything progressed quickly: surgery, recovery, fears. The doctors said I probably wouldn’t have children. I didn’t argue — just accepted it. I thought my life would take a different path. No family, no children. Just a career, traveling, and freedom.
That’s how it went. I built a successful career in finance, moved to Austria on a contract, and traveled around half the world. I had romantic encounters with men, but without commitments. I didn’t let myself fall in love, didn’t make plans. I lived half a life. And even that seemed enough — or so I thought.
One day, I started feeling strange — weak, dizzy. I blamed it on fatigue. But the gynecologist I visited, more out of habit, dropped a bombshell:
— You’re pregnant. Four months along.
I couldn’t believe it. Wasn’t I supposed to be infertile? How? A mistake? 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, friends, nor colleagues. I concealed everything. Wore loose clothing, barely gained weight, trying to ignore what was happening.
And then — the ninth month. I had this fixed idea — to go on holiday to South America, a dream I had since my youth. Everything was paid in advance, and I decided: why not? I flew to Argentina. And there, amidst the tropical rains and Spanish chatter, I went into labor.
I gave birth in a small hospital near Cordoba. I named the baby girl Sophie. I felt nothing. Just fatigue and fear. I even considered leaving her there, in a country where nobody knew us.
But the poverty I witnessed shocked me. I realized if Sophie were to be left, it should at least be back home in England. I contacted the embassy, and they helped me arrange her documents. With difficulty, through numerous stops, I returned home.
I was exhausted, penniless, with an infant in my arms. The next day, without hesitation, I took her to a children’s home. Explained that I couldn’t cope. The social workers didn’t judge me. They simply accepted her in silence.
I went home, fell into bed, and… felt empty. Everything — like it wasn’t happening to me. Two days later, I returned to work.
But a couple of weeks later, I got a call from the shelter.
— There’s something wrong with your girl. She isn’t eating. Doesn’t respond. Just cries.
I went. I don’t know why. Maybe just to assure myself it wasn’t my fault. But when I saw her — thin, with dull eyes, wrapped in someone else’s blanket — something clicked.
She recognized me. Didn’t cry. Didn’t smile. Just looked at me — like she was waiting. And I understood: she was mine. She needed me as much as I needed her.
I went home and didn’t sleep all night. The next morning, I told everything to my boss, colleagues, and friends. I didn’t want to lie anymore.
A week later, I brought Sophie home.
At first, it was tough. Sleepless nights, fear, exhaustion. But with each day — she grew stronger, and I — stronger too. We got used to each other. Became a family.
Now Sophie is three years old. She laughs, runs around the house, sings songs. And I live once more. Truly. No mask, no escape. 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 matters is, I once found the strength to choose love over fear. And I don’t regret it for a second.
Sophie is my salvation. And my redemption.
