Every story has a beginning; like how life has a beginning. For me though, my “beginning” is unknown; my origin is unknown. When I was little, two months and 15 days to be exact, I was left in the doorsteps of the Fresno’s Home of Orphans. No one knows where I came from, who my parents were, or if I was even from Fresno. All the staff knew was that I was dropped off with a note that said:
Please take care of my daughter.
Make sure she lives happily.
Her name is Jenna.
And there I lay, wrapped in a silk blanket with nothing but that note and a locket. A golden heart locket with intricate designs patterned along it all laced with a golden chain. My only link to my past.
For the past 15 years, I have traveled across the United States. I’ve gone from foster parents to foster parents, from West to East and everywhere in between, but as I got older my foster parents became less and less caring. Eventually when I came to London, about a week ago, my new foster parents were never around. Both were full time doctors, so since they were never around I ended up having to take care of myself. My foster parents truly don’t care about me; I know they only take care of me for the money.
Eventually though my story may have a bleak beginning, it has a happy ending . . . or was it a happy middle? You see in stories there is a beginning, middle, and the end . . .
In my story though . . . it doesn’t exactly go in that order.