As I walked home one fall afternoon, I saw Evie, a young girl, crying in the middle of a busy street next to her broken-down bike.
When I saw that she was in danger, I ran over and pulled her to safety just in time for a fast-moving car to go by. When she was safe, she told me she was scared and that she had been riding her bike after her mom. She took me to a huge house that belonged to her grandma.
At the mansion, Vivienne, Evie’s grandma, opened the door for us. As she put the bandage on Evie’s knee, I saw an old picture on the wall of a guy who looked a lot like me. Vivienne said it was her brother Henry, who had been missing for fifty years. She suggested that I get a DNA test to see if I am related to him.
The results showed a shocking truth: Henry was my dad. When I found out about this, I felt connected to a family I didn’t know I had. I made friends with both Vivienne and Evie as I got used to my new job. I learned that family ties often appear when you least expect them.
