Foster Parents Abandon Daughter on 18th Birthday, Beg Her on Knees to Return Next Day — Story of the Day

I spent my entire childhood in foster care, but this was the worst. This couple would recruit a bunch of kids and use us as laborers in their farming business, and when the child turned 18, they would throw them out, never to be seen again. This is what happened to me.

I leaned on my hoe, watching the morning sunrise, its warmth gently touching my face. Moments like these almost let me forget the reality of my life as a child laborer. Almost.

"Anna, stop daydreaming and get back to work!" Mr. Thompson's voice cut gruffly through the tranquility.

I straightened up, forcing a smile. "Ye-yes, sir," I replied, resuming my work.

Soon, Mrs. Thompson emerged from the house, wiping her hands on her apron. "Anna, dear, remember your birthday is coming up. We have something special planned for you." Her voice was always softer, but the underlying sharpness was unmistakable.

I hesitated, a lump forming in my throat. "Thank you, Mrs. Thompson. That means a lot."

Turning 18 was a milestone, but in foster care on the Thompson farm, it also meant uncertainty. Would I still have a home here?

The night before my 18th birthday, excitement sparkled in Mrs. Thompson's eyes.

"Anna, we have a surprise for you," she said with unusual enthusiasm. "A trip to the city, just for you!"

I was surprised. "Really? For me?" The city was an unexplored adventure, a place I had only dreamed of visiting.

"Yes, dear," Mr. Thompson said, his stern expression softening into a rare smile. "Consider it a birthday gift from us. You've been invaluable on the farm, and we thought you deserved something special."

***

The journey to the city was a blur of excitement. The Thompsons pointed out landmarks and shared stories as if we were a happy family on a trip. When we arrived late that night, we checked into a modest motel. "Get some rest," Mrs. Thompson said. "We have a big day tomorrow. Happy birthday, Anna."

"Thank you," I replied, my heart brimming with gratitude. That night, I fell asleep smiling, my dreams filled with the potential adventures of the day ahead.

But the next morning shattered that dream.

A note from Mrs. Thompson lay beside me: "Anna, you're 18 now. You're on your own. Good luck."

I knew very little of my life before the age of four. I had been with the Thompsons since I was five, but I never felt like I was a part of a real family. I often wondered about my real parents and why I was in foster care.

To be honest, one evening, I had overheard the Thompsons saying they couldn't keep me after I turned 18. I was hiding behind the living room door, eavesdropping on their conversation.

Confrontation wasn't my nature, but I needed answers. I needed to know where I stood. Taking a deep breath, I walked into the living room.

"Is it true? Will you make me leave when I turn 18?" I asked them flatly.

The Thompsons exchanged a glance. Mrs. Thompson recovered first, offering a reassuring smile. "Oh, Anna, you misunderstood. We were discussing, um, farm policies. You're part of this family. Why would we send you away?"

Mr. Thompson nodded in agreement, but his eyes didn't meet mine. "That's right. Don't worry about it, Anna. You have a home here."

I wanted to believe them, to cling to the hope they offered, but the seed of doubt had been planted. I forced a smile. "Thank you. I appreciate it." The words felt as empty as the reassurance they had given me.

The next morning, I joined the other foster kids in the fields. There was Lucy, a quiet girl with a hidden strength in her eyes, and Tom, whose laughter could brighten even the dullest days.

They were my makeshift family, and I wondered if they, too, were destined for the same fate as me. Only now I realized maybe they were. I was 18 and abandoned by my foster parents, and as soon as those kids turned 18, they'd be abandoned, too.

I set out from the motel, not knowing what to do. I didn't have any money. The city streets were bustling with life. But people hardly paid attention to me, making me feel even more alone.

But a kind woman named Jade noticed I was upset and offered help. "Hey, are you okay?" she asked. I couldn't say much and just nodded.

"You don't look okay," she then said and told me about her café nearby if I needed anything.

"Thank you," I whispered.

I wandered around, the city's noises overwhelming me. I ended up in a park, feeling more alone as I watched families spending time together. When it got cold and dark, I realized I had nowhere to go.

That night, I found a spot near a closed shop to sleep. It was cold and uncomfortable, but I was determined not to let the Thompsons' actions break me.

The next day, hungry and unsure about my fate, I went to Jade's café. She seemed surprised but welcomed me inside.

"I didn't expect to see you again," she said. I told her I had nowhere else to go. She offered me breakfast and listened to my story.

Jade's kindness gave me hope. Even though I lost my home with the Thompsons, I felt strong and ready to face new challenges.

Walking in the city, I met a homeless man named Mac outside a grocery store. He could tell I was struggling.

"Lost or just hungry?" he asked. I said I was both. I had been too anxious to eat much at the café with Jade.

He gave me an apple, showing me kindness in this big, new city. Accepting something from a stranger wasn't really safe; I knew that. But something in my heart told me I could trust Mac. He was not like the Thompsons. He took me to a community center where I was offered a fresh meal.

Mac and I sat at a table. We were eating and chatting when a voice suddenly distracted me. A shiver ran down my spine as I saw the Thompsons at the community center.

"Anna!" Mrs. Thompson called out, running over. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

I was shocked. "How did you find me?" I asked, my voice shaking.

"We talked to Jade at the café," Mrs. Thompson explained. "Then, one of the homeless gentlemen we met not far from the café said he saw you with Mac. He mentioned Mac often comes to this center."

"We need you back, Anna. You're family to us," Mrs. Thompson continued, trying to sound sincere.

"Yes, you're not just a hard worker; you're a leader," Mr. Thompson added. "We can't manage without you. We're begging you." With that, he went down on his knees alongside our table, drawing stares from all around the room. His wife did likewise.

Mac whispered to me, "You don't have to go with them if you don't want to."

I stood up, feeling strong with Mac's support. "I won't go back with you. You left me alone here," I told the Thompsons.

They begged me to return, even offering me a job on the farm. "Please come back. We'll pay you, and you'll have a real home with us," Mrs. Thompson pleaded.

I needed a moment to think and walked outside. Their offer was attractive — there was stability and money. But could the Thompsons be trusted? No. The people who abandoned me once could abandon me again.

The cool air helped me clear my head. Inside, the Thompsons were still hoping I'd say yes.

Returning to the table, I saw the hopeful look in the Thompsons' eyes. "You're family to us," Mrs. Thompson said again hollowly.

Their words didn't mean much to me now. I realized family doesn't abandon or use each other.

"I need to find my own way now," I told them firmly. "I'm staying here."

The Thompsons tried to convince me of their 'love' again, but I stood firm. Eventually, they left, their shoulders slumped in defeat.

Mac patted my shoulder gently. "That took guts, kid. Not many can stand up like that."

I smiled. "Thanks, Mac. I couldn't have done it without you."

He shrugged modestly. "We all need a little help sometimes. You'll find your way; I'm sure of it," he said.

As I slept at the community center that night, I felt hopeful that I could start fresh. I also decided I couldn't ignore the Thompsons' actions towards other foster kids.

"We need to stop them," I told Mac, who was sleeping beside me. "What they're doing is wrong."

"We'll go to the police," Mac suggested. "That'd be the right to do."

And we did that. The next day, we went to the police station and told an officer everything about the Thompsons and how they treated me and the other children.

"I want to report a case of exploitation and abuse," I said to the cop. "It's about a couple who are using foster children as labor on their farm."

The officer listened attentively and promised to investigate. We gave him all the details we could.

Soon, the police arrested the Thompsons, and the other kids were taken to a safer place. It felt like a big win for us.

"You did good, Anna. You changed those kids' lives," Mac told me, and I felt proud.

I started volunteering at the community center and found a new purpose in life. I felt strong and ready to help others.

One evening, Mrs. Jenkins, the center's director, came to me. "Anna, I've been wanting to talk to you," she said. "You've become an integral part of this place. Your journey, your strength—it's inspiring, not just to those we help, but to all of us working here."

I felt a blush of pride but remained silent, curious about where this was leading.

Mrs. Jenkins continued, "I've discussed this with the board, and we believe you're ready for more responsibility. We'd like to offer you a job here as the superintendent of the shelter."

I was surprised and excited. "Superintendent?" I repeated, amazed.

"Yes," she confirmed. "You're great with people and have shown real leadership. The job includes a place to live here, so you'll have a home."

The offer was more than I could have hoped for — a chance to help more and have a stable home.

"Mrs. Jenkins, this means so much to me. I'm very thankful," I said, touched by the offer.

"You've earned this, Anna," she reassured me. "You're a big part of our family here, and we want to support you."

With tears of happiness, I accepted the job offer. "Thank you. I'll do my best," I promised.

That evening, as I closed up the center, I felt incredibly grateful. My journey, with all its ups and downs, led me to a place where I could make a difference and find a new start.

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