On our wedding night, just as my husband and I lay together, the door slammed open, and his mother burst in, breathless and shaking. “STOP!” she cried, her voice trembling with urgency.
I grew up in a shelter, surrounded by kids who, like me, had been left behind. Some had parents who didn’t want them. Others had parents who couldn’t keep them. I never knew which one was true for me.
As a baby, I was abandoned at a shelter—no note, no explanation. I told myself it didn’t matter. I worked hard, earned a scholarship, and built my future. Then I met Daniel, who broke through my walls. Six months later, he proposed. On our wedding night, his mother burst in, terrified.
“You can’t have a child,” she said. “You might be siblings.”
A DNA test revealed we weren’t related, but Margaret had unknowingly abandoned another daughter. Now, we had to find her.
“I have to do this,” Margaret said.
Daniel squeezed my hand. “We’ll help.”
“All of us will.”
