One morning, my stepdaughter looked at me and said, “Olivia, where’s my backpack?”—like I was a stranger. She used to call me “Mom.” I raised her since she was three, after her birth mother, Jenna, left with a note: *“I’m not cut out for this. Take care of her.”*

Things changed when Lily turned 10. She grew distant. One day, I asked, “Why don’t you call me Mom anymore?” She replied coldly, *“You’re not the only woman who raised me.”* That night, I found her tablet buzzing. The screen lit up with a message from “Mama ❤️.” I heard Jenna’s voice: *“Did Olivia make you clean again? I’ll come get you soon, okay?”*

Dan had kept it from me. He’d let Jenna back in. “I thought it might be good for Lily to have a connection to… her real mother.” That broke me. *“I’ve been her real mother,”* I said, and called my lawyer.

Jenna never showed when she promised to pick Lily up. That night, I found Lily sobbing. *“She said you were trying to replace her. She lied, didn’t she?”* I held her and whispered, *“She left. Not you. And I never will.”*Days later, Lily softly said, “Thanks, Mom.” And that was enough.