I thought finding my birth mom was the end of the story — until she revealed something that changed everything. A journal, a photo, and a tearful reunion with the father I never knew would take this journey somewhere I never expected. My name is Jared.
I’m 25 years old, born and raised in Ohio, and for the most part, I’ve lived a pretty normal life.
I have a girlfriend named Kate, who’s way too good for me, a steady IT job, and a dog I treat like my own child. Life has been good.
But something happened recently that I’m still trying to make sense of. It completely changed how I see myself and where I come from.
I was adopted as a baby, and that was never a secret.
My parents were always open about it. They even had one letter from my birth mother. Her name is Serena.
She was 16 when she had me.
Just a kid herself. I still have her letter.
It’s written in blue ink and folded neatly inside a pink envelope with a tiny teddy bear sticker on it. Sometimes I take it out and read it, and every time, it hits me hard.
In it, she said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t be your mommy, but I hope you grow up happy and loved.”
The words sounded like they came from a child — because they did.
And yet, that one page held so much emotion. It made me wonder who she became and whether she ever thought about me. For years, I tried to find her, but when I was 10, my family moved to another state because of my dad’s job.
Whatever small connection there might have been between us disappeared after that.
I eventually stopped looking. Life kept moving forward with school, college, work, and relationships.
There was always something pulling my focus somewhere else. But somehow, I found her.
She works at this little restaurant off the highway in a quiet town two hours from where I live.
It’s the kind of place with paper menus, checkered tablecloths, and old-school booths that creak when you slide in. I ended up there by accident during a road trip with Kate. And the second I saw her, something just clicked.
She didn’t recognize me, of course, but I knew right away.
Her smile, her eyes, even the way she pushed her hair behind her ear matched the one photo my adoptive mom had kept. I stayed quiet that day.
I didn’t say anything the next week either, or the week after that. But I kept going back.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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