I always thought I really knew my sister—until that one family dinner revealed a side of her I never imagined and forced me to make a choice that changed both our lives forever.
I’m Cate, 32, living in Portland. I work as a freelance graphic designer from home, which gives me plenty of time for coffee, slow walks, and my minor obsession with hunting through used bookstores.
I’m single and child-free, but in my family, I’ve always been the listener—the reliable one who keeps things steady when life gets messy. For a long time, that mostly meant supporting my sister Jone. She was the one who needed holding up the most.
Jone is three years older than me. She’s the ultra-planner type—everything color-coded in planners, parties straight out of Pinterest, a schedule for every detail. Motherhood had been her lifelong dream. Her husband, Blas, is quiet and agreeable; he nods along, rarely speaking unless directly addressed.
Jone longed for a baby for years. She and Blas went through almost seven years of trying—IVF treatments that drained their savings, hormone shots that exhausted her emotionally, and trips to doctors across three cities. Every attempt brought hope, and every failure stole it away again.
I lost count of the times she called me crying.
“Maybe the next one,” she’d whisper after another disappointment, her voice hollow, her body shaking.
Family dinners always carried that quiet sadness beneath forced smiles—an empty seat we all pretended wasn’t there. Hope would appear, only to wound her more.
So when she called to say they were adopting, I cried with her.
“We’re getting a little girl,” Jone said over the phone, her voice trembling with joy. “She’s three. Her name is Else.”
I could hear the lightness in her words—something missing for years. This hope felt tangible.
“I’m so happy for you,” I said. “You’re going to be an amazing mom.”
“I already love her so much, Cate,” she whispered.
The first time I met Else, she was in their living room, stacking blocks into a tower taller than her head with intense concentration. She had round cheeks, soft curls, and wide brown eyes that seemed to notice everything. When I knelt next to her, she looked up and asked quietly,
“Are you Auntie?”
“Yes, sweetie,” I said with a smile. “I’m Auntie Cate.”
She nodded seriously and handed me a blue block.
From that moment, she always called me Auntie. Every time she saw me, she ran into my arms, shouting, “Auntie!”
She followed Jone everywhere—drawing pictures for her, “helping” in the kitchen with tiny plastic spoons, snuggling on the couch as if she belonged. Honestly, she did.
Jone would beam at her. “She’s perfect, right?”
I agreed. For the first time, Jone seemed whole. Our family finally felt complete.
But life has a way of throwing unexpected blows.
About six months after Else arrived, Jone called me one night. I was clearing dishes and almost missed the call. Her voice was strange—high and excited.
“I have news,” she said, struggling to contain her excitement. “Big news. I’m pregnant!”
I froze. “Wait—seriously? You’re not joking?”
She laughed, disbelief and happiness mixing in her voice. “Can you believe it? After everything, Cate… it finally worked!”
“Oh my God,” I said. “Jone, that’s amazing!”
We both cried on the phone. I meant every word: no one deserved this more.
But I had no idea how quickly that joy would turn into something else.
Within days, Jone shared the news with everyone. Mom cried tears of happiness on the phone. Dad even smiled for the first time in weeks. Everyone was thrilled. Jone wanted a celebratory dinner that weekend.
“Bring champagne,” she said. “Dress nicely. This is our fresh start.”
That Saturday, I arrived in a navy dress, a chilled bottle of bubbly, and a small bouquet of lilies. The house looked like a magazine spread—fairy lights above, white roses on the table, gold candles flickering. Everything sparkled.
Blas was radiant, showing off the sonogram picture like a trophy. Our brothers patted him on the back. Mom was already planning a baby shower.
But something felt off.
I scanned the room. Too tidy. Too quiet.
Else’s toys weren’t scattered across the floor. Her crayon drawings weren’t on the fridge. Instead, a fancy announcement on the door read: “Coming Soon: Our First Real Child.”
The words sank in slowly, then hit me like a wall.
I looked at Jone, trying to stay calm. “Hey… where’s Else?”
She paused, fork halfway to her mouth. The room went silent.
“Oh,” she said casually. “I gave her back.”
Silence.
I stared. “You what?”
Jone rolled her eyes. “Don’t act like it’s terrible. She was adopted. It’s not the same as giving away my own. The agency just took her.”
I was stunned. “Jone, she called you Mom. She thought this was her home.”
“She’s only three,” Jone said, flicking crumbs off her napkin. “She’ll adjust. I can’t handle toddler stress while pregnant. This baby… this one’s ours. It’s not the same.”
My stomach dropped. “Not the same how?”
Jone touched her belly gently. She smiled. “I’m having my own baby. My real baby.”
Something inside me broke. “Jone, Else was real too. She was your daughter. You promised her forever.”
Blas interjected, voice tight. “It was a tough call, Cate. We did what was best for our family.”
“For your family?” I snapped. “So Else wasn’t part of it?”
Mom gasped softly. Dad’s face hardened.
Jone leaned in, coldly. “You don’t understand what it’s like to finally be pregnant after all we went through. I deserve to focus on this child. Else will be fine. The agency will place her elsewhere.”
My voice shook. “She’s not something you return because she doesn’t fit, Jone. She’s a little girl.”
Jone’s tone sharpened. “Don’t guilt me. I’m not the villain. I did what was right for our family.”
“You’re wrong,” I said, holding back tears. “You don’t return a child just because something ‘better’ shows up.”
Jone slammed her napkin down. “Enough. I’m done talking about this.”
Just then, there was a loud knock at the door.
Everyone looked over.
Jone frowned. “Who is that?”
She opened the door, probably expecting a neighbor. Her expression changed instantly.
A woman stood there—mid-forties, wearing a gray blazer and black pants, hair in a tight bun, holding a folder and an ID badge.
Jone froze. Her jaw tightened.
The woman’s voice was calm but firm. “Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?” Jone replied.
“I’m from the state adoption agency,” the woman said, stepping inside. “I’m here about issues with your recent paperwork.”
Jone blinked. “Issues? I already returned the child. Everything was done.”
The woman stayed serious and pulled out papers. “Not exactly. Records show you took the child without notifying your caseworker and gave her to a volunteer at a private shelter.”
She looked Jone in the eye.
“That’s a violation of the adoption contract—and state law.”
The room tensed.
Blas shifted. “We thought it was okay. The volunteer said—”
“No authority,” the woman cut in. “You needed the agency, an approved transfer, proper evaluation. What you did was effectively abandoning a minor.”
Jone’s voice rose. “Abandoning? That’s insane! I didn’t abandon her! I just… returned her!”
“You signed legal papers,” the woman said firmly. “This wasn’t temporary, Mrs. Carter. You can’t return a child like shoes that don’t fit.”
The room fell silent.
Mom covered her mouth. Dad looked pale.
“What now?” Jone asked weakly.
The woman checked her folder. “A full investigation will follow. Charges may be filed. Future parental rights could be affected.”
Blas paled. “Charges? We’re having a baby soon.”
“You must appear in court within ten days,” the woman said. “The outcome could affect your future adoptions.”