The onset of menarche was an uncomfortable and alarming event, which I’d have happily done without. A few weeks after my twelfth birthday, I awoke to find the crotch of my panties soaked in blood, and the sheets had several splotches as well. My startled scream could have woken the dead.

It took no time at all for my parents to rush into my room. A single glance at the state of my lingerie and bedding prompted Mom to swiftly shove Dad out. Once reassured, she led me to the bathroom, helped clean me up, and taught me how to manage this new phase. Afterward, we gathered the soiled items from my bed, which she then carried downstairs to launder. Harper experienced her own period not long after me, and it is safe to say that she found the experience just as enjoyable as I did.

I never gave much thought to it before, but after that incident, I took a long look at myself in the mirror and noticed just how much I've changed since being adopted. While my girlish features haven't entirely vanished, they've certainly become more refined and mature.

I undress and examine myself, and I can definitively state that I'm neither your typical girl next door nor am I a supermodel. Thanks to my mom's insistence on a daily skincare routine for me and Harper, my fair skin is flawless. My arched eyebrows hover above long lashes that accentuate my eyes, which shine a vibrant shade of green. I have a darling little button nose, plump lips, and my long, wavy, blonde hair cascades down my back like a waterfall.