I grew up believing I was born different — and that “different” meant unlovable. My name is Eliza Monroe, and I was born with albinism. My hair was too white, my skin too pale, my eyes too sensitive to the world. Before I ever learned my first word, my biological parents decided they could not raise a child who looked like me. And so, shortly after birth, I was placed into care 💔.
As a child, I learned early what silence feels like. The kind that settles in when you realize you are not waiting for someone — no one is coming. At the adoption center, we were told to smile, to behave, to hope. Hope was the hardest part. Each passing day felt like proof that love had conditions 🌫️.
When I was five, the center organized a small event to lift our spirits — a pretend wedding, complete with paper flowers, toy rings, and borrowed laughter. It was meant to be playful, almost silly. I didn’t understand weddings, but I understood standing next to someone. That’s where I met Caleb. He was shy, standing beside me with an awkward smile, holding my hand for a moment that lasted only minutes — yet somehow stayed with me for decades 🌸💫.
Not long after, we were adopted by different families. Our lives split without warning. No goodbyes. No promises. Just absence.
As I grew older, my appearance followed me everywhere. People stared. Some whispered. Others asked invasive questions disguised as curiosity. Dating felt impossible. I was often treated like something people had to “overlook” in order to love. Compliments, when they came, were backhanded — “You’re pretty… considering.” I learned to shrink myself emotionally, to expect rejection before it arrived 😢.
I told myself I was strong. And I was. But strength doesn’t erase loneliness.
Then, forty years later, on an ordinary afternoon at a farmers’ market in Phoenix, I heard someone say my name. Not the way strangers do — but the way memory does. I turned around, and there he was. Caleb 🌟.
Time disappeared. We talked for hours — about life, loss, families, and the strange path that had separated us. And for the first time in my life, I felt no hesitation in someone’s gaze. He looked at me as if nothing needed explaining.
He told me I was beautiful.
Not despite my albinism.
Not in spite of my differences.
Just… beautiful 🤍✨.
Today, I am married to the boy who once stood beside me in a room filled with paper flowers. Life did not give me an easy beginning. I was once left behind. I was once unwanted. But love found me anyway. I am no longer the child waiting to be chosen. I am the woman who is chosen — fully, fiercely, and without conditions 🌈💛. And that has made all the difference.