For Thirty Years, I Believed I Was Adopted—Until the Truth Changed Everything
For most of my life, I thought I’d been abandoned by my biological parents. That belief shaped who I was, until a visit to the orphanage revealed a truth far more painful.
My dad first told me I was adopted when I was three. “Your real parents couldn’t care for you,” he said, “so we gave you a better life.” The word love made me feel safe. But six months later, my mom died, leaving just me and Dad.
At first, he tried. But as I grew older, his patience waned, and his words cut deeper. When I struggled with anything, he’d blame my “real parents.” By the time I was six, even my birthday became a reminder of how “lucky” I was that he had “taken me in.”
At sixteen, I asked to see my adoption papers. Dad handed me a single page—official-looking but incomplete. I didn’t press further.
Continue reading on next page…