I never expected to see a little girl who looked exactly like my daughter—same honey-brown hair, dimples, and even the identical birthmark on her wrist.
My name is James, a dad in my thirties raising my five-year-old daughter, Olivia, from my previous marriage. When I met my wife, Claire, I was navigating single fatherhood while starting a new relationship. Claire and Olivia bonded instantly, like they were meant to be.
When we decided to adopt, Claire longed to experience motherhood from the very beginning. At the shelter, we met several children, but none felt like “our” child—until we saw Angel. She had Olivia’s face, Olivia’s smile.
Claire noticed my reaction. “James, what’s wrong?”
“Look at her wrist,” I whispered.
A buried memory surfaced—Caroline, my ex-wife, had once told me she was pregnant. Could Olivia have a twin? A call to Caroline confirmed the shocking truth.
Angel was ours.
With the truth revealed, the judge granted us custody. A year later, we celebrated “Family Day.” Watching Olivia and Angel together, I knew—they were finally home.
