What she didn’t know was that my mom had installed nanny cams years ago. I found the footage and saved everything.
At the reception, just before vows, I played the recordings. Her voice filled the ballroom — cold, calculating, cruel. Gasps echoed through the crowd. She tried to call it “out of context.”
It wasn’t.
Security escorted her out. By the next morning, it was over.
A week later, the adoption was finalized. In the judge’s office, Maya cried softly as she signed her name. Lily squeezed her hand and whispered, “We won’t be separated now.”
That night, we made spaghetti. We lit a candle for Mom. After dinner, Lily leaned against me.
“We knew you’d choose us,” she said.
I couldn’t speak. I just cried.
But for the first time in months, the tears didn’t feel like everything falling apart.
They felt like something finally being held together.
