My mother died the day I was born. My father chose another woman over me. He n…

My mother died the day I was born.

My father chose another woman over me. He never called. Never wrote.

One day, when I was just seven, he took me by the hand and brought me to a woman’s home. He smiled and said, “Go inside, buddy. I’m coming back in ten minutes — just going to buy some food for you.”

I believed him.
I waited.
But he never came back.

That woman was my stepmother. She could have called the police. She could have sent me to a foster home. But she didn’t. Instead, she opened her heart. She raised me as her own. She gave me love when I had no one.

Now, I’m in my 40s. Every weekend, I come to see her. And in this picture… you can see it — her walking towards me, and me walking towards her.

This is love.
Not by blood… but by choice. And sometimes, that’s the purest kind there is.

Credit – original owner ( respect 🫡)