Insurance paid for most of the treatment, but the extra costs were overwhelming. Co-pays, medication, special food, gas, appointments. Megan’s nurse salary was not enough, though she never let me see her worry. Years later, I found out she had taken out a second mortgage on her house so I would never feel like a burden.
Six months into treatment, she sat me down at the kitchen table. Waffles the cat was asleep on the rug.
“Emily,” she said nervously, “I need to ask you something important.”
My heart froze. I thought she was sending me away.
“I want to adopt you,” she said quickly, tears already in her eyes. “Not just foster. I want you to be my daughter forever. Would that be okay?”
I could not speak. I just threw my arms around her neck.
The adoption became official on my fourteenth birthday.
I became Emily Rivera.
Megan gave me a silver necklace with both our initials on it.
“You’re mine now,” she said. “Forever.”
By fifteen, I was in maintenance treatment. My hair had started growing back, and I had energy again. But I had fallen behind in school.
