My adopted son Joey stared silently at his birthday cake, then tears rolled down his cheeks. “My birthday was yesterday,” he whispered. My heart sank — the papers said today. What else was hidden?

Joey had never spoken much about his past, but that day, he told me about his brother Tommy and their Grandma Vivi. Joey remembered celebrating two birthdays with Tommy — he was born just before midnight. Then they were separated. Joey’s eyes filled with pain as he whispered, “I wish I could be with him right now.”

Determined, we searched for the lighthouse Joey had drawn — a place Grandma Vivi used to take them. When we found her, she denied Tommy ever existed. Joey was crushed. But just as we were leaving, Tommy appeared, running toward Joey. They hugged tightly, never wanting to let go.

Grandma Vivi finally shared her truth: their parents died in a crash. She had to choose one child to keep and gave the other away. “The birthday party was a goodbye,” she said with regret.

From that day on, Joey and Tommy lived with me. Family isn’t about perfect choices — it’s about finding your way back to each other.