When my mother-in-law, Carol, gifted our adopted daughter, Emma, a giant stuffed elephant, I thought it might be a step toward bonding. Emma adored the toy, naming it Ellie and dragging it everywhere. But soon, I began to notice something off. Ellie felt unusually heavy and emitted a faint chemical odor.

One night, after Emma was asleep, I investigated. I found a suspicious stitch and, driven by concern, cut it open. To my horror, I discovered old documents inside—legal papers and adoption records with hateful messages written in red ink: “Not real family,” “She’ll never be yours,” and “Blood is thicker than water.” My stomach turned. Carol had deliberately hidden these messages inside Ellie.

I was overwhelmed with anger and fear for Emma’s safety. Without hesitation, I took Ellie outside and set it on fire with lighter fluid. I watched as the flames consumed the elephant and the hateful messages turned to ash.

Ethan came home to find me by the smoldering remains. I explained what I’d found and why I had to destroy it. His face turned pale with shock and anger. We decided to cut ties with Carol immediately. The next morning, Ethan called her and told her she was no longer welcome in our lives. Carol’s pleas were futile.

Weeks later, I still struggle to understand how someone could harbor such hatred towards an innocent child. But when I see Emma, I’m reassured that we made the right decision. She’s our daughter in every meaningful way, and nothing—especially not blood or malice—can change that.

“I’d burn the whole world if I had to,” I told Ethan one night as we tucked Emma in. “To protect her.” He squeezed my hand and replied, “I know. And we will, Jess. We will.”