The Baby with a Disability That Everyone Wanted to Give Away—Except His Older Sister

I never imagined my life would change so drastically the day Mateo was born. I was seventeen when my mother called me from the hospital, her voice trembling on the other end of the line.

“Elena, you need to come. The baby is here… and there are complications.”

I ran to the hospital, not knowing what to expect. I found my parents in the hallway, whispering to a doctor. My mother’s eyes were red from crying.

“What’s happening?” I asked, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst.

My father took my hand and led me to a chair.

“Your brother was born with Down syndrome, Elena. The doctors say he also has heart problems that will require several surgeries.”

The world stopped for a moment. Then a nurse opened the door to the neonatal ward, and I saw him: small, pink, perfect. Mateo. My brother.

“Can I hold him?” I whispered.

The nurse smiled and carefully placed Mateo in my arms. His eyes slowly opened, and he looked at me. In that instant, I knew I would love him forever.

In the following weeks, I overheard conversations that broke my heart. My parents spoke in the kitchen when they thought I was asleep.

“We can’t, Roberto. We don’t have the resources to give him everything he’ll need,” my mother said, sobbing.

“The González family says they know a specialized adoption agency. People who know how to care for children like this,” my father replied.

One night, I couldn’t stay silent any longer. I went downstairs and confronted them.

“You are not giving him up for adoption,” I said, my voice firmer than I expected.

My parents froze. My mother quickly wiped away her tears.

“Elena, you don’t understand. Mateo will need special care, therapies, surgeries. We don’t know if—”

“I do understand,” I interrupted. “I understand that he is my brother. I understand that when I hold him, he smiles. I understand that when I sing to him, he calms down. And I understand that if you give him away, you will never forgive yourselves.”

My father sighed deeply.

“Hija, it’s not that simple. Financially…”

“I’ll get a job. I’ll take a break from college if I have to. I’ll do whatever it takes, but Mateo stays with us.”

The following weeks were the hardest of my life. I researched everything about Down syndrome, spoke with support organizations, and applied for government programs. Every day after school, I went to the hospital to be with Mateo.

One afternoon, as I fed him, my mother arrived.

“You’ve been here every day,” she said, sitting beside me.

“He’s my brother, Mom.”

She was silent for a long while, watching Mateo grasp my finger with his tiny hand.

“You’re seventeen, Elena. You should be thinking about your future, college, your life…”

“My future includes Mateo,” I interrupted. “I can’t imagine a life without him.”

That night, my parents had a different conversation. I overheard them from my room.

“She’s shown more maturity than we have,” my father said. “Maybe… maybe we can try.”

“But Roberto, the medical expenses, the therapies…”

“Elena is right. He is our child. We will figure it out.”

The next morning, my mother came into my room, tears in her eyes.

“Mateo is coming home next week,” she said. “But you need to know, this is going to be very hard for the whole family.”

I stood up and hugged her tightly.

“I know, Mom. But we can do it. Together.”

Now, three years later, I cannot imagine our family without Mateo. Yes, it has been difficult. I’ve worked part-time during college to help cover expenses. We’ve had sleepless nights in hospitals. But we’ve also celebrated his first words, first steps, and the infectious laughter that fills our home.

Mateo attends therapy three times a week and goes to a specialized preschool. He is the most loving child in the world, and though he learns differently, he learns. Every small achievement is a reason to celebrate.

Sometimes my parents thank me for fighting for him. But the truth is, Mateo has taught us more than we could ever teach him. He has taught us about unconditional love, patience, and finding joy in the little things.

When I watch him play in the yard, screaming with delight at a butterfly, I know I made the right decision. Mateo didn’t need a perfect family—he just needed a family that loved him perfectly, just as he is.

And that family is us.