I Adopted a Baby After Making a Promise to God – 17 Years Later, She Broke My Heart!

Ruth was seventeen and wounded, and at that age, truth often matters less than hurt. She left for prom alone. John and I sat at the kitchen table until dawn, the house echoing with absence. On the fourth day, I saw her through the front window, standing on the porch with her overnight bag, small and exhausted.

I opened the door. She looked up with red-rimmed eyes: “I don’t want to be your promise. I just want to be your daughter.”

I held her, desperately, mirroring that night on the bathroom floor. I told her she had always been my daughter, vow or no vow. She sobbed—heavy, cleansing tears—and for the first time, the transactional nature of the past disappeared. We were no longer a mother, a biological daughter, and a “promised” child. We were simply three broken people finding our way back to each other.

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