I’m 50 years old, and until last Tuesday, I thought I had finally made peace with being alone.
I grew up in state care. Children’s home first. Then foster placements. Then out.
When I turned 18, I got a photocopied file in a manila envelope. Intake notes. Placement numbers. A later name update. No useful family history. I was told I had been surrendered young, transferred quickly, and that there was no verified relative connection on record.
Last Tuesday, I was rinsing a coffee mug when my phone rang.
So I built a life around not needing answers.
Last Tuesday, I was rinsing a coffee mug when my phone rang.
Unknown number.