over the next year, became her caregiver. Slowly, Jenna and I built a bond. We shared stories, hopes, and healing. She got stronger. When Jenna was finally ready to take Chloe home, I was proud — and heartbroken. But she didn’t walk away. She found a place nearby, and every Sunday, she and Chloe visit. Chloe calls,

me “Nana.” I still don’t know why my daughter left or whether she was deceived or complicit. That pain lingers. But through the ashes of what I lost, I gained a daughter in Jenna — and a granddaughter in Chloe — who filled a space I didn’t know was waiting. Sometimes, the family we build is the one that saves us.