One late night, as I was walking home from work, I heard the sound of a baby crying and stopped in my tracks. The cries were coming from my neighbor Ellie’s porch, where I spotted a stroller with a tearful baby inside. Alarmed, I knocked on Ellie’s door, only for her to reveal she had no idea where the baby had come from. After a brief, bewildered exchange, we called the police, who took the baby into their care and began investigating. Days later, my husband Justin and I visited the shelter, where we learned that the baby’s parents had not been found. After much consideration, we decided to foster and eventually adopt the little boy, whom we named Tom. Life was challenging but rewarding as we embraced parenthood, though tragedy struck when Justin passed away when Tom was just eight years old.

Years later, after Tom’s 13th birthday party, he stumbled upon adoption papers in my room, uncovering the truth about his origins. It wasn’t how I had planned to tell him, but I sat with him and explained everything—the night I found him, our decision to adopt, and how much Justin and I had loved him. While Tom was emotional, he accepted the truth and soon expressed a heartfelt desire to find his birth parents. Though apprehensive, I agreed to help him, warning him about the potential challenges. Together, we began searching online, contacting the shelter, and sharing our story on social media. Despite our efforts, the search yielded no leads, leaving us both frustrated and disheartened.