I took in my best friend’s children thinking the hardest part would be the grief. I thought the sleepless nights, the sudden responsibilities, the school drop offs, and the quiet breakdowns in the pantry would be the biggest challenges I would ever face.
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For a long time, I was sure I understood Rachel’s life. I believed I knew her history, her heart, and the reasons she did what she did. After all, we had been best friends since we were teenagers. We had shared secrets, laughter, and the kind of loyalty that felt unbreakable.
But years after I adopted her four children, a stranger showed up at my front door and proved how wrong I was.
Rachel and I met on the first day of high school. She sat beside me in the cafeteria because the other tables were full, and we bonded over a shared love of books and the kind of cafeteria food that could make you question humanity. From that day on, she became part of my life in a way that never faded. We moved through the seasons of growing up together, crushes, heartbreaks, graduation, jobs, marriages, motherhood.
Rachel was the kind of woman people instantly trusted. She had a steady, gentle way about her. She remembered birthdays and favorite snacks. She was the friend who could calm a room just by walking into it. Even when things were chaotic, she somehow made them feel manageable.
And no one loved being a mother more than Rachel.
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