Eight years after vanishing from his life, my son’s biological mother, Macy, appeared on our doorstep, claiming she wanted him back. I shut the door in her face, determined Max would stay with me. But the next morning, his bed was empty, and I realized the fight for him wasn’t over. 2Max came into my life one rainy night when I was working as a counselor at a children’s shelter. A soaked cardboard box, containing a trembling baby boy, was left on the doorstep. His name was Max, and his mother had abandoned him. I couldn’t shake the image of his wide, sad eyes. Six months later,

I adopted him. Despite my love and effort, Max struggled with his identity. He would often ask about his birth mother, and on his 8th birthday, he refused to participate in a Mother’s Day assembly, saying I wasn’t his real mother. It hurt, but I understood. His real mother, Macy, had been a distant shadow in his life. Then, on Max’s 11th birthday, Macy reappeared, elegantly dressed, claiming she could now give him everything he deserved. I told her to leave—she had abandoned him once, and nothing could change that. Max,