They told me adopting two girls with albinism would be too hard.
Too complicated. Too demanding. Too much responsibility.
They were wrong.
My name is Farida, and years ago, I met two sisters — Aisha and Leyla — whose lives had been defined by uncertainty. They were moved from place to place, never staying long enough to unpack fully, never allowed to feel permanent. People spoke about them in careful, lowered voices, listing medical needs, special routines, and warnings disguised as concern. What no one talked about was the quiet fear in their eyes — the fear of being left again.
Everyone told me to think carefully. They said the care would be exhausting. The sun protection, the doctor visits, the school meetings, the explanations to strangers. They said love alone wouldn’t be enough.
But when I looked at Aisha and Leyla, I didn’t see “too hard.”
I saw two girls who needed one simple thing — someone who wouldn’t walk away. 🤍 So I stayed.
I promised them this would be the last move. That they would finally belong somewhere. The early years were not easy. There were long days and strict routines. Hats, sunscreen, careful planning. There were moments of exhaustion, moments of fear, moments where I wondered if I was strong enough. But there was also laughter echoing through the house. Healing that happened quietly. Hope that grew little by little. 🌤️
Love didn’t make their challenges disappear — but it made them manageable. It gave them confidence. Safety. A place to grow without apology.
And today, when I look at them, I see two women who were never “limited” — only waiting to be believed in.
👮‍♀️ Aisha now serves her community as a police officer, standing tall, protecting others with courage and pride.
🩺 Leyla saves lives as a doctor, her hands steady, her heart strong.
The world once told me adopting them would be difficult.
No one ever warned me it would be the greatest decision of my life. 💙
Because love didn’t hold them back.
Love set them free. ✨