The man who knocked on my door looked rough, with a cold stare and a crooked smile. He claimed to be my biological father and shockingly demanded half of everything I had. He argued that by giving me up for adoption, he’d given me a “chance” at a better life. His words made my blood run cold, as I had no memory of him—just painful years in foster care.I was still reeling from his presence when my husband, Daniel,

stepped into the room. Calm yet protective, Daniel confronted the man and revealed the truth about my past—how I’d been moved from one terrible foster home to another, often mistreated. Daniel made it clear that everything we had now, from our home to our happiness,