A couple of billionaires adopted me but they’re raising me poor... they don’t share anything with me

My life has been a roller coaster from birth. You may think that my story is unrealistic but everything I’m about to tell you is true.

When I was about five months old, an old man, Mr. O Sullivan, found me on his porch when he was going outside to feed his cat. I was in a cardboard box wrapped in a blanket. I wasn’t crying or anything – just looking around.

You might be thinking that he called the police immediately and tried to get rid of me as soon as possible – but he didn’t do that. He decided that he’d try to take care of me himself and whenever anyone asked, he told them that I was his granddaughter. He named me Julia, after his long lost wife.

As I grew up, he told me lots of interesting stories about his hometown in Ireland. I went to bed dreaming about leprechauns, fairies and all the cool mythical creatures I was convinced lived there. I called him grandpa my whole life, until I was about ten years old. He decided to tell me the truth about where I came from.

“So you don’t know who my parents are?”

“No. And they never came searching for you either. I always thought that they’d show up here one day but that never happened. I suppose they had some kind of difficulty and they just couldn’t take care of you. But don’t worry, I’ll always make sure that you’re happy and well taken care of.”

I was grateful for him, but still sad.

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