“My birthday was yesterday.”
Joey’s voice was so quiet, I almost didn’t hear it. He stared at the glowing candle on his cake. His eyes didn’t sparkle. His lips didn’t smile. And then, slowly, a tear rolled down his cheek.
“My birthday was yesterday,” he whispered again.
I felt like the air had been knocked out of my chest. My stomach twisted. What? But the adoption papers—everything I had—said today.
What else had I been wrong about?
“Do you want a boy or a girl?” the adoption worker had asked me when I first started the process.
I remembered answering, “I just want to be a mom.”
I didn’t dream about family Christmas cards or decorating nursery walls with pastel animals. I wasn’t into homemade baby food or themed birthday parties. But I knew one thing for sure—I could love a child who needed love. I could be the kind of mom who helped change someone’s life.
And then came Joey.
He didn’t know that day would be the day he left the foster home for good. For weeks before, during our visits, he would inch closer to me each time. His tiny fingers would clutch the hem of my sweater. His big brown eyes would lock on mine, asking a silent question: When will it be time?
On the day I came to bring him home, I carried a plush dinosaur—big, green, and squishy, with stubby little arms. The second Joey saw it, I noticed his fingers twitch. But he didn’t move.
I knelt beside him.
“Well, Joey,” I said gently, “are you ready to go home?”
He looked at me, then the dinosaur, then back again.
“We’re never coming back here?” he asked quietly.
“Never,” I promised him. “I swear.”
There was a long pause. His tiny face was serious. Then, slowly, he reached out and took my hand.
“Alright. But so that you know… I don’t eat green beans.”
I held back a laugh, smiling instead. “Noted.”
And just like that, I became his mom.
I knew adjusting to a new life wouldn’t be easy for him—or me. But I had no idea how many secrets Joey had tucked deep inside his heart.
His birthday came exactly a week after he moved in.
I wanted it to be magical. His first birthday in a real home. Our first celebration as a family.
I planned everything—balloons, streamers, a colorful cake, and a small mountain of presents. Not too many, just enough to make him feel special and loved.
The morning started out perfect.
We made pancakes together in the kitchen. Well—“made” might not be the right word. We practically destroyed the kitchen. Flour on the floor, batter on the counter, a sticky spoon flung halfway across the room.
Joey giggled, a high, sweet sound, as he puffed a handful of flour into the air.
“Are we making pancakes or trying to redecorate the kitchen?” I asked, laughing.
“Both,” he said proudly, stirring the batter with wild circles.
His face was dusted in flour, his cheeks pink with joy. He looked happy. Maybe even safe. That mess was the most beautiful chaos I’d ever seen.
After breakfast, we moved to presents. I had wrapped each one with care: a superhero action figure, books filled with dinosaurs, a glowing nightlight, a toy T-rex so big it barely fit in the box.
Joey opened them slowly. One by one. But something was off.
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Do you like them?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.
“Yeah. They’re cool,” he said quietly.
That wasn’t the reaction I was hoping for.
Then came the cake. Chocolate, just like he said he liked. I lit the candle and beamed at him.
“Alright, birthday boy,” I said, “time to make a wish.”
But he didn’t move. He didn’t smile. He just stared at the flame like it wasn’t real.
“Sweetheart?” I nudged the plate closer to him. “This is your day. Come on, make a wish.”
His lip trembled. His hands balled into little fists.
“This isn’t my birthday,” he whispered.
I blinked. “What?”
“My birthday was yesterday.”
I froze. “But… the documents say today…”
“They made a mistake,” Joey said, voice tight. “My brother and I always celebrated together. But I was born before midnight, so we had two birthdays. That’s what Grandma Vivi said.”
It was the first time he’d ever spoken about his past. The first glimpse I had into the life he had before me.
I blew out the candle gently and slid into the chair next to him.
“Your brother?” I asked softly.
He nodded, tracing slow circles on the table with one finger.
“Yeah. His name is Tommy.”
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know… I’m so sorry, honey.”
“I remember our birthdays,” he said. “The last time, I was four, and then he was four. Grandma Vivi gave us two parties. With cake. With friends. And then… they took me away.”
Just one year ago. His memories were still raw. Still fresh.
“I wish I could be with him right now,” Joey said, almost to himself.
I reached over and gently took his hand. “Joey…”
But he didn’t look at me. He rubbed his eyes quickly, then stood up.
“I’m kinda tired.”
“Okay,” I said softly. “Let’s get some sleep.”
I tucked him into bed even though it was still daytime. His small body seemed weighed down by more than just tiredness.
Just as I turned to leave, he reached under his pillow and pulled out a small wooden box.
“My treasure box.”
He opened it and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He handed it to me.
“This is the place. Grandma Vivi always took us here.”
I unfolded it carefully. A child’s drawing—a lighthouse with a single tree beside it. The pencil strokes were careful and neat. Something about it made my chest ache.
Suddenly, I realized something very clearly: before we could build our future, I had to help Joey heal his past.
The next day, I sat at my laptop, searching online for anything that could match the lighthouse from Joey’s drawing. Page after page of results. Lighthouses for sale, lighthouses for weddings, tourist spots.
But none of them were his lighthouse.
“There has to be a way to narrow this down,” I muttered, rubbing my temples.
I stared at the drawing again. The lighthouse was basic. But beside it stood a single tree, thick and twisty, like it had been there for a hundred years.
That tree was the clue.
I changed the search, limited it to places in our state. Searched images.
And then—I found it.
“That’s it!” I whispered.
I turned the screen toward Joey. “Does this look familiar?”
He leaned in, eyes wide.
“That’s the place,” he said. “That’s a real one!”
“Alright, buddy,” I said, grinning. “Let’s go on an adventure.”
The next morning, I packed sandwiches, juice boxes, and a soft blanket.
“We might not find it right away,” I warned. “But we’ll have fun trying.”
Joey didn’t even answer—he was already putting on his shoes, his excitement too big to hold in.
In the car, he held the drawing in his lap, tracing the lighthouse lines with his fingertip.
I put on a dinosaur audiobook, but his mind was far away.
“What are you thinking about?” I asked.
He stared out the window. “What if she doesn’t remember me?”
I reached over and squeezed his hand. “How could she forget you?”
The small coastal town was busy with tourists. People walked with ice cream cones, ducked into old shops, laughed in the sun.
I slowed the car and glanced at Joey.
“Let’s ask someone.”
Before I could even pull over, Joey rolled down his window and waved.
“Hi! Do you know where my Grandma Vivi lives?”
A woman walking by stopped. She looked at Joey, then at me. I braced myself for confusion or suspicion.
But instead, she smiled gently.
“Oh, you mean old Vivi? She lives in the yellow house near the cliffs. You can’t miss it.”
Joey gasped. “That’s it! That’s where she lives!”
I nodded, my throat tight. “Guess we found her.”
The yellow house stood near the cliff’s edge, the lighthouse behind it tall and proud, just like Joey’s drawing. I parked the car and turned to him.
“You want to stay here while I go talk?”
He nodded, holding the drawing tight.
I walked up the path and knocked.
After a moment, the door creaked open. An older woman with sharp eyes and silver hair stood there, holding a mug of tea.
“What do you want?” she asked, voice cautious.
“Are you Vivi?” I asked.
She didn’t answer.
“Who’s asking?”
“My name is Kayla. My son Joey… he’s in the car. He’s looking for his brother. Tommy.”
Her eyes flickered. Her grip on the teacup tightened.
“There are no brothers here.”
“Oh,” I said, caught off guard. “I’m sorry—”
“Grandma Vivi!” Joey suddenly appeared beside me, holding out the drawing. “I brought Tommy a present!”
Her face went stiff. She looked at him, then at me.
“You should leave,” she said coldly.
“Please,” I begged. “He just wants to see his brother.”
“You shouldn’t dig up the past.”
And then… she closed the door.
I froze. Anger and heartbreak twisted in my chest. I crouched down beside Joey.
“I’m so sorry, honey.”
He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. He just walked quietly back to the car. Before getting in, he turned and placed the drawing gently on the doorstep.
We drove away slowly, my heart breaking for him.
Then—thump thump thump—footsteps behind us.
“Joey! Joey!”
I slammed the brakes.
“Tommy?” Joey gasped.
A boy, identical to Joey, was running toward us, arms wide. Joey jumped out of the car and ran to him.
They crashed into each other, hugging so tightly, I thought they might melt into one.
Behind them, Vivi stood in the doorway. Her hand was on her heart. Tears shimmered in her eyes.
Then she gave a tiny nod. An invitation.
I turned off the engine. We weren’t leaving.
Not yet.
Inside, Vivi stirred her tea as the boys whispered and giggled, shoulder to shoulder.
Finally, she spoke.
“When the boys were one, their parents died in a car crash.”
I felt my breath catch. I didn’t know that.
“I wasn’t young. I wasn’t healthy. I had nothing. I had to make a choice,” she said quietly. “So I kept the one who looked like my son. And let the other go.”
Tears stung my eyes.
“The birthday party… it was a goodbye,” she said. “I thought it was right. But I was wrong.”
Silence fell.
Then Joey reached over and gently placed his hand on hers.
“It’s okay, Grandma Vivi,” he said. “I found Mom.”
Vivi’s eyes filled with tears. She covered his hand with hers and gave it a gentle squeeze.
From that day forward, we made a promise.
The boys would never be separated again.
Joey and Tommy moved in with me. And every weekend, we drove back to the lighthouse—to the house near the cliffs where Grandma Vivi waited with tea, cookies, and open arms.
Because being a family isn’t about perfect choices.
It’s about love.
And finding your way back to each other.
