Before I could respond, the back door opened.
“Desiree?”
She stepped inside—older, but unmistakable. My grandmother’s closest friend.
“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.
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