You know those old fashioned stories about babies being left on other peoples doorsteps by their parents because the parents can't take care of them for whatever reason?
They're true, at least some of the time anyways. How would I know? I was one of those babies.
My parent's probably could have left me on one of the hundreds of homes, owned by heartless people, yet I got lucky. I was left on Serena’s & John's doorstep. A young couple, who by pure fluke had been told earlier that very same day Serena could never give birth.
From a young age, I was told the truth of how they found me and what happened afterwards. They searched for my real parents, for any hint of the family I'd come from, but none seemed to exist. My birth certificate had been left with them when I was, but yet it didn't list the hospital I was born in, and it didn't list my parent's names. The two of them never saw a point in lying to me. Telling me how god had given me to them, and how I truly was their daughter.
I called them mom and dad. I loved them the same way they loved me. Sure I'd used the fact they weren't really my parents once in a fight, but besides that it seemed to only come up on thanksgiving when they went off about how thankful they were for me.
Just because I had a good life, and was happy didn't mean I wasn't eternally curious to where I had come from, who my real parents were and why they had abandoned me. Maybe it was my parents were just some teenage couple who couldn't handle a child, or some father whose wife had died in childbirth so he could never look at me, maybe they just didn't want a little girl, or maybe I wasn't good enough. I didn't care what the reason was I just wish I knew what it was.

