**Shattered Dreams: The Price of Love**
For years, Emily and William dreamed of a child, but fate was unkind—pregnancy never came. Adoption seemed the only way, like a door left ajar by some unseen hand. The path was long: endless paperwork, inspections, waiting. Emily still remembered their first visit to the children’s home in the next town over. Young eyes, brimming with hope and fear, stared up at them, silently begging to be taken away. Among them was Grace—a twelve-year-old with dark braids and deep blue eyes, uncannily like Emily’s late sister. The woman’s heart ached with tenderness. William had hoped for a son, but Grace won them both at once. She glowed at every visit, clinging to them as if they were already hers.
When the matron mentioned Grace had been adopted five times—and returned each time—Emily nearly wept. “The eternal orphan,” they called her. The reasons for the returns were vague, but Emily didn’t pry. Her kind heart couldn’t bear the thought of a child betrayed again and again by those she’d learned to love. She and William vowed: Grace would be their daughter, and no one would abandon her again.
As the paperwork crawled forward, they brought Grace home more often. Their three-bedroom house now held a room just for her—a dream for any child raised without privacy. Grace was overjoyed, and Emily and William poured love into her, mending what they could. Then, the miracle: Emily discovered she was pregnant. It happened often, they said, for those who fostered. The couple rejoiced, but scrapping the adoption never crossed their minds. Grace was family now.
When approval finally came, Grace left the children’s home for good—or so they thought. A counsellor suggested preparing her for the baby, so Emily and William sat her down. They promised she’d be loved just as much, that she’d always be their first daughter. But when they mentioned the baby would one day share her room, Grace’s face darkened. Her eyes flashed—cold, almost hateful. She stood and left without a word.
From then on, Grace acted strangely. She’d cling to them, arms locked tight as if they might vanish. Sometimes she’d wrap her hands around Emily’s neck from behind, squeezing so hard it hurt. “I love you, Mummy,” she’d whisper, but her teeth ground together, her gaze glassy. Emily soothed her, but William grew uneasy. The counsellor insisted it was jealousy. “She fears losing your love,” he said. “Just give her time.”
Hell began when Charlotte was born. The premature baby cried endlessly, demanding constant care. To spare Grace, the crib stayed in the parents’ room. Emily was stretched thin, torn between her daughters. William helped—walking Grace to school, reading to her at night. At first, all seemed well. But soon Emily noticed: whenever Grace was alone with Charlotte, the baby would scream in terror. Rushing in, she’d find Grace “tending” to her sister—until the day she caught Grace pinching Charlotte’s nose shut, her tiny face turning blue. At Emily’s gasp, Grace let go. Charlotte wailed, gasping for air. Grace just stared—blank, unrepentant.
William tried talking to her that evening. After coaxing, Grace muttered, “I was cleaning her nose.” Ridiculous, but the counsellor urged patience. “She needs more love.” Then, worse: Emily found Grace by the crib with a bottle of boiling water, poised to feed it to Charlotte. Grace watched their reaction, silent. For the first time, Emily saw not a child—but something hollow.
As Charlotte grew stronger, Grace seemed to adjust. But Emily never left them alone. That summer, they planned a seaside trip—Grace’s first. But with Charlotte so small, it was too risky. When Emily explained, Grace exploded. She didn’t cry—she howled, thrashing on the floor, fists pounding. The counsellor called it “healthy expression.” William and Emily exchanged a glance—they needed a new expert.
The night William left for business, Emily tucked Grace in herself. For hours, she read, talked, trying to understand. Maybe she’d been unfair. Maybe Grace was just fragile. Then, offhand, Grace asked, “If Charlotte disappeared… would you love me more? Would you take me to the seaside?” Emily’s blood turned to ice. Grace didn’t need a counsellor—she needed a psychiatrist.
Exhausted, Emily fell asleep—only to wake to rustling. She bolted upright. Grace loomed over Charlotte’s crib, pressing a pillow to her face. Emily tore it away. Charlotte lay blue-lipped, barely breathing. Emily wanted to scream, to strike Grace—but the girl’s eyes, brimming with pure hate, froze her. Then Grace spoke. She hated Charlotte. Wanted her gone. Promised to “fix it.” Emily collapsed, weeping. Where had she failed?
New experts came, but Grace wouldn’t bend. “Charlotte has to disappear,” she insisted. “Or I’ll do it.” Crushed, Emily and William made the unbearable choice. They couldn’t risk Charlotte’s life. Grace had to go back.
Now, Emily stood at the window, watching William lead Grace away. The girl stopped, turned, and locked eyes with her. A glare of pure venom struck Emily like lightning. She staggered back, sobbing. When she dared look again, the street was empty. Snow drifted down, burying the footprints of their broken dream.
