Would fledgling Jessica ever find happiness?
While my mum Julie nattered away at the school gates, I couldn’t help but overhear what her friend was saying.
‘Who’s her real mum, then?’ she asked.
I didn’t hear my mum’s reply, but at four years old the comment left me confused.
My parents Julie and Ray had always told me I was adopted, but I was too young to understand what that meant.
I just knew I was different.
After all, my bright red hair obviously hadn’t come from either of them.
But it was only during my teenage years that it really clicked.
We had such a close relationship, so to realise my adoptive mother wasn’t related to me was devastating.
When I was 17, Julie sat me down.
‘Would you like to find your birth mum?’ she asked.
Taking a few minutes to think about it, I made my decision.
‘No,’ I replied.
I was too scared of the unknown.
One evening, I got home way past my curfew after being at a party. Understandably, my dad was furious.
‘You don’t respect the rules of this house!’ he yelled.
‘I’m old enough to do what I want!’ I shouted back.
I was a rebellious teen and we’d had the odd argument here and there, but this felt more serious.
‘Well, you’re old enough to know how you came into the world then!’ he shouted. ‘Julie, get her folder.’
What’s he talking about? I wondered.
Mum left the room and, minutes later, she came back clasping a white folder.
She handed it over and as I opened it, I realised it was all the paperwork they had about my adoption.
'You should know your heritage'
There was my birth certificate and countless pages with notes detailing my development as
a toddler.
As I turned a page, I stumbled across an old newspaper article.
Hours-old infant left near quarry, read the headline.
As I read on, it felt like my world was crumbling.
The baby in the article was me.
It explained that as a newborn I’d been abandoned for six hours, with a shoelace still attached to my umbilical cord.
The sunburnt infant was found wrapped in a blue blanket in bushes near a business complex, it read.
Dropping the folder, I burst into tears and ran upstairs to my bedroom.
I couldn’t believe they had kept this from me.
To think my birth mum discarded me like a bag of rubbish made me feel sick.
The article mentioned that I’d been found by a construction worker called Isaac who had heard my cries.
He’d saved my life.
But there were so many details I didn’t know.
It was all so overwhelming, we didn’t speak of it again.
Eventually, I settled down and married and started a family, but I struggled to open up about my dark past with my husband, and the relationship ended in divorce.
Then, when I least expected it, I finally met someone I could talk to.
His name was Eddie, and we soon became engaged.
I told him my story and he encouraged me to find out about my family history.
‘You should know your heritage,’ he remarked.
So that Christmas, I was overjoyed when he gifted me an Ancestry DNA kit.
‘This is it,’ he said, taking my hand. ‘All you need to do is put some saliva in that tube.’
I did it there and then, before sending it off.
Six weeks later, my phone pinged with an email.
‘Oh my God!’ I shrieked. ‘It’s my results!’
‘Open it,’ he said, as excited as I was.
As I did, I was astounded.
I was 25 per cent Spanish, and a mix of other nationalities.
The next page showed my DNA matches.
‘These must be… my relatives,’ I said, in shock.
After reading through it all, I didn’t know where to start.
So I found a Facebook page that could help me get in touch with my biological family — the Search Squad.
'Would you like to see her?'
I put up a post and a few minutes later a woman called Dara messaged me.
I’m a DNA analyst and I’d love to help you, she wrote.
She was what adoptees called a Search Angel.
I gave her my number and two days later, she called me with some news.
‘I can put you in touch with your biological dad’s brother and some cousins on his side,’ she said.
I couldn’t believe it.
‘Thank you so much,’ I replied excitedly.
I soon found them all on Facebook and sent them a message.
Hi, you don’t know me but I was adopted and I think we’re related, I messaged.
But Dara had some more shocking news for me.
‘I’m afraid your birth dad recently passed away,’ she explained.
I’d been so close. Now I’d never get to meet my dad.
Although it was upsetting, I knew there was one other person who could give me the answers I desperately needed.
But I wasn’t sure I even wanted to find her.
My birth mum.
I still harboured resentment towards her.
Then Dara called me with news.
‘I’ve found your mother,’ she announced. ‘She has two other children. Would you like to see her?’
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to talk to her, but I couldn’t resist seeing a photo of her.
When I saw her Facebook profile, I couldn’t believe the resemblance.
So that’s where I get my red hair from, I thought.
Without thinking, I decided to send her a message.
All I could do was wait.
A few days later, Dara put me in touch with two of my relatives on my dad’s side — my half-siblings Nicole and David.
After messaging them, it was clear they had no idea that their dad had had another child.
He hadn’t known about me himself.
If he’d have known, he would never have let that happen to you, Nicole messaged.
A week later, we decided to meet up at a local park.
As the three of us walked towards each other, we burst into tears.
‘I don’t want you to think you weren’t wanted,’ Nicole cried, as she pulled me into a hug.
I had been an only child growing up and now I not only had Nicole and David, but they had two other brothers that I was yet to meet.
On top of that, I had six new nieces and nephews.
‘I’m an auntie!’ I exclaimed in delight.
Two days later, we arranged a play date with them and my six children.
Seeing them all together brought tears to my eyes.
Soon after, I found Isaac, the man who’d rescued me.
We met up, along with the detective who’d been involved at the time, Glen.
‘I always wondered if you were OK,’ Isaac said as we hugged.
‘I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you,’ I told him.
We then drove the 15 minutes to the area where I’d been abandoned all those years ago.
Seeing the bushes my mum had left me in was a strange feeling.
It felt like I’d come full circle and I could finally close that chapter of my life.
Eventually, my birth mum replied to my message and we spoke on the phone.
She told me that she was 24 when she had me, and she’d been addicted to drugs.
She and my dad had been a one-time thing and she was too scared to tell her family she was pregnant. That’s why she left me in the bushes, to keep her secret hidden.
But it didn’t make it any easier for me to get my head around.
I found out that after Isaac found me, I was in hospital for three days.
Then I had a foster mum until I was 15 months old, when Julie and Ray had adopted me.
Because of what happened to me, I’m a strong advocate for the Safe Haven law.
It aims to decriminalise the abandonment of babies, so desperate women don’t feel the need to leave their newborns in unsafe places.
Although my birth mum apologised, we’re still deciding whether we want to be in each other’s lives.
But for now, I’ve got all the family I need.
Finally, after 31 years, I feel like I belong.
Jessica Hicks, 31