“I’ve been looking for you,” she said, pulling me into an unexpected embrace.
Then she told me the truth.
My grandmother wasn’t my biological grandmother.
She had found me as a baby—alone, hidden in bushes, wearing that necklace.
There was no name. No note. Just me.
She raised me anyway.
And Desiree had spent twenty years searching for where I came from.
That necklace was the only clue.
“And now,” Desiree said softly, “I’ve found them.”
Everything changed in that moment.
The next day, I met them—my real parents.
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