One December evening, while walking my dog, Max, he suddenly ran into the woods. I followed and found two identical twin girls, shivering and cold in the snow. They told me they were nine and had been abandoned in a nearby shed. Concerned, I brought them home, fed them, and gave them a warm place to sleep.
The next morning, strange noises came from my daughter Emma’s room. Emma, weak and tired from cancer treatments, was laughing—her first real laughter in months. The twins had transformed into magical characters—a kind witch and a fairy princess—putting on a show just for her. Emma was captivated, her pain momentarily forgotten.
The girls explained how they had used stories and imagination to comfort each other in the shed. Now, they wanted to share that magic with Emma. In the days that followed, they stayed by her side, filling our home with joy and wonder.
On Christmas Eve, their grandest show yet brought tears to my eyes. These girls had given us hope when we needed it most. That night, I decided to adopt them, knowing they were meant to be part of our family. Max had known all along—they belonged with us.
