A blanket.
At first he assumed someone had dumped trash there.
Then the blanket moved.
Inside it was a furious three-month-old baby girl with tiny clenched fists and a face red from crying.
There was a note tucked beside me.
Just two short sentences.
“She’s yours. I can’t do this.”
That was the last time anyone heard from the woman who gave birth to me.
Dad hadn’t even known she was pregnant.
He was just a teenager with a part-time job, an old bicycle, and suddenly… a baby.
He once admitted he stood there for almost five minutes, staring at me and trying to figure out what he was supposed to do.
Then I started screaming again.
Continued on the next page
