My parents left me in foster care at seven, and I spent years feeling unwanted—until a foster mom named Maggie made me feel seen. Twelve years later, she found me again and handed me a folder with a house deed in my name. She’d inherited a cottage, fixed it up, saved the rent money, and decided I deserved a fresh start.
I moved in, got a café job, and slowly built a life. Then Maggie invited me to lunch and gave me photos from when I lived with her—and told me she’d found my birth parents, now sober and wanting to reconnect. After months, I met them. We didn’t fix everything, but we began healing.
Soon after, Maggie was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I stayed by her side until she passed. She left me her home, her savings, and a note reminding me I was never a burden. I turned her house into “Maggie’s Place,” a home for girls aging out of foster care.
The cottage she gave me still stands—my first real home and proof that sometimes one person’s love can change an entire life.
