I was paralyzed and stuck in a wheelchair after an accident, and my father refused to be burdened by me.

But then he learned an important lesson.

I was 19 years old when I was hit by a car on my way to work.

For me, it was the end of the world: screeching tires, darkness, and pain.

And when I woke up, I heard the voices saying that I would never walk again.

I kept calling for my father, but he didn’t show up until three days later, looking like he had been through something horrible himself, and I knew he had been drinking while I was fighting for my life.

My mother died when I was 12, a victim of breast cancer.

I remember her as a sweet, exhausted woman, who always shunned my father’s cruel words, and worked to put food on the table while he wasted his wages drinking.

When I was 14, he ordered me to find a part-time job to help pay the bills, and when I turned 16, I left school and started working full-time to support myself — and him.

But when my father finally came to the hospital to visit me, there was no compassion or gratitude in his eyes.

The doctor explained that although my spine was not broken, there was severe damage and compression.

It would be — so to speak — possible for me to regain the ability to walk, but most likely I would spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair.

And that’s when my father left.

He said to the doctor: “She is 18, right? She is an adult, right? Then she is no longer my responsibility. You take care of her.”

I remember the look of shock on the doctor’s face and my father’s gaze running over my limp legs.

“Useless! Useless, like your mother!”

Those were the last words I heard from him for the next six years.

Shortly after, I was transferred to a rehabilitation center, where, fortunately, I was assigned to a therapist named Carol Hanson.

Family is built on love, not on a biological bond, nor on shared DNA.

She was a motherly older woman who immediately took me under her wing.

Carol was as loving as she was demanding, and she was very demanding.

The following year, he pushed me toward a recovery I had never considered possible.

The day I stood up and took my first step, I cried like a baby, and Carol did the same.

It was just the beginning, and in the following months I worked even harder, but I was finally given the all clear.

It was a bittersweet moment for me.

I had recovered from my injuries and was walking again, but I was terrified.

I had nowhere to go, I had no family.

I was completely alone in the world.

Carol came in and found me crying.

He sat next to me on the bed and hugged me.

“Jenny,” he said, “it’s okay to be scared. You’re starting your life over again.”

“I have no one, and I have nowhere to go,” I whispered, remembering other patients who left surrounded by loving family, “I am alone.”

“No, you’re not,” Carol said firmly, “I want to talk to you about that.

Would you like to come live with me? Just until you get your life back on track…“

So I did, and it was wonderful.

Carol and I got along very well, and she gave me my own room, a nice room, the nicest I had ever seen.

“It was my daughter’s room,” Carol explained with tears in her eyes. “I lost her, just like you lost your mother.”

The next day, I started looking up jobs on Carol’s computer, but when I came down for breakfast, there were some informational pamphlets on the table about night classes for adults wanting to earn their high school diploma.

“I think,” Carol said determinedly, “that you should go back to school so that you can go to college.”

My mouth dropped. “College?”

“I can’t afford it!” I exclaimed. “Carol, I don’t have a cent and I have no way to support myself unless I get a job, and soon.”

Carol shook her head: „No, Jenny, you can’t afford NOT to go to college.

Listen, I’ll lend you the money, and when you graduate, you pay me back, like a student loan from the bank.

Anyway, he convinced me, and I quickly completed the high school certification I needed and enrolled in the local college.

I admit that Carol’s example inspired me to become a nurse, and four years later I graduated with honors.

I started working at a local hospital and specialized in neonatal care.

One day, a television crew came in to do a report on a trio of identical twins, and they interviewed me.

For a while, I was something of a celebrity, but the attention brought me an unwanted visitor.

The doorbell rang and when I opened it, I was shocked to see my father standing there.

He looked horrible, like a homeless man, and smelled of alcohol and sweat.

“Jenny, my dear daughter!” she cried, reaching out her hands to mine.

“I finally found you.”

“Did you find me again?” I asked sharply, “Did you leave me in the hospital because I was useless, do you remember, like your mother?”

She choked back a few tears. “Oh, my baby,” she sobbed.

“Forgive me, I was scared and in shock…

You’re not going to reject me, are you? I haven’t been good…“

“You look perfectly fine to me,” I said coldly, but my trained eyes had already noticed the yellow tint in her skin and eyes.

He probably had a liver condition due to alcohol.

He crawled inside.

“I’m sick, Jenny, Daddy really needs you… And…” he licked his lips.

“And I’m broke, honey, I have nothing to eat…

“You’re not going to let your daddy starve, are you?”

“How could you leave me to my fate?

Useless in a wheelchair! Guess ‘DAD’, that’s me.

“Get out.” I closed the door in his face and went back into the living room.

Carol looked up and smiled.

“Who was it, Jenny?”

“Oh, just a guy selling something,” I said, walked over to the couch, sat down next to Carol, and hugged her tightly.

Carol hugged me back.

“Jenny,” he said, “there’s something I wanted to talk to you about.

Would you like to adopt me?

Be my daughter? Because in my heart you are already my daughter.

I started crying and couldn’t stop.

I was cursed with a horrible childhood, and now as an adult, I was lucky enough to find a loving home and a caring mother.