Eight years after abandoning her baby, Max’s birth mother, Macy, suddenly returned, claiming she wanted him back.
I had adopted Max after he was left at a shelter where I worked, and had raised him with love, even as he struggled
with questions about his identity. When Macy reappeared on his 11th birthday, Max was torn—and the next morning,
he vanished. I found him with her in a motel, but after hearing her out, Max chose to come home with me. Later, he
called me “Mom” for the first time, saying, “You’re my real mom, because you chose me every day.” Love, I realized, isn’t in blood—it’s in choosing to stay.
