Because of Her Cancer, Nobody Wanted Her — I Adopted Her Anyway, and a Month Later, a Limo Came to My Door

One gray Tuesday afternoon, after pouring coffee for one and staring at the empty chair across from me, I finally made a decision. I drove to the children’s shelter on the outskirts of town, my hands shaking on the steering wheel the entire way. The building was old and painted a cheerful yellow, a color that felt almost too bright for the sadness it contained inside. The air smelled like crayons and cleaning supplies, and the soft sounds of children’s voices echoed down the hallways.

Mrs. Patterson, a kind woman with gentle eyes and a weary smile, greeted me at the front desk. She invited me to look around and take my time. I walked slowly through the rooms where children were building towers with blocks, coloring at tables, and playing tag in small groups. Their laughter should have been carefree, but I could sense the weight each child carried. Every smile seemed to hide a story too heavy for their young shoulders.

Then I saw her. A small girl sitting alone by the window, curled up as if she wanted to take up as little space as possible. She wore a knitted hat pulled low over her head, and her thin fingers gripped a popsicle tightly. Our eyes met — hers were huge and brown, filled with a sadness that seemed far too old for a child her age. When I smiled, she returned it hesitantly. I knelt beside her and asked about her drawing.

“A house,” she whispered.

“Is it your house?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. It’s the one I want someday, with big windows so I can see the stars.”

My throat tightened at her words. “That sounds perfect,” I told her.

She looked at me quietly for a moment. “What’s your name?”

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