When my sister died suddenly, her seven-year-old daughter was left without a home. I wanted to take her in, but my husband said we weren’t ready, and the choice haunted me for years. My niece entered foster care, and I carried the quiet guilt of wondering if she felt abandoned or unloved.
Fourteen years later, a young woman stood at our door — confident, kind, and heartbreakingly familiar. She had grown up with a loving foster family and came not with anger, but forgiveness.
That moment taught me that healing doesn’t come from rewriting the past, but from facing it with honesty and grace. Sometimes, forgiveness arrives when we least expect it — and gives us the peace we thought we’d lost forever.
