I Adopted Twins with Disabilities After I Found Them on the Street – 12 Years Later, I Nearly Dropped the Phone When I Learned What They Did
Twelve years ago, during my 5 a.m. trash route, I found twin babies abandoned in a stroller on a frozen sidewalk—and ended up becoming their mom. I thought the wildest part of our story was how we found each other… until a phone call this year proved me very, very wrong.
I’m 41. Twelve years ago, life was simple. Steven, my husband, was recovering from surgery. I worked sanitation, driving a big trash truck through bone-cold streets.
“Text me if you need anything,” I said, kissing his forehead.
He grinned weakly. “Go save the city from banana peels, Abbie.”
That morning, I did. And that’s when I saw the stroller.
No kids, no parent, just a quiet ache where they should have been. Two tiny girls, maybe six months old, curled under mismatched blankets, cheeks pink from the cold. They were breathing, but only just.
I called 911, talked to the dispatcher, moved the stroller out of the wind, and tried to comfort them. “It’s okay,” I whispered. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. I won’t leave you.”
Police and CPS arrived. When they carried the girls away, my chest ached. That night, I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Steven finally spoke. “What if we tried to foster them?”
My heart twisted. Twins. Babies. Chaos. But looking at him, I knew he was right. “You already love them,” he said.
The next day, we called CPS. Home visits. Background checks. A week later, the social worker told us the twins were deaf—profoundly.
“I don’t care,” I said. “We’ll learn whatever we need.”
We did. ASL classes. Videos at 1 a.m. Fingers stiff and clumsy. We learned “milk,” “more,” “sleep,” “mom,” “dad.” Money was tight, sleep rarer. But I had never been so happy.
Hannah and Diana thrived. Hannah loved drawing. Diana loved building. They invented private signs only they understood, laughing silently at each other.
By 12, they were unstoppable. One afternoon, they brought home a school project: adaptive clothing for kids with disabilities. Hoodies with room for hearing devices. Pants with side zippers. Tags that didn’t itch. Bright, playful designs that didn’t scream “special needs.”
Then the phone rang. Unknown number.
“Hi, is this Mrs. Lester? This is Bethany from BrightSteps,” said a warm voice. “Your daughters’ project—outstanding. We want to turn it into a real collaboration. Paid. Over $500,000 projected.”
I sat down. My heart skipped. “They… my girls did that?”
“Yes,” she said. “We’d like to set up a meeting—with interpreters—so they’re fully involved.”
Steven walked in. “Abbie? You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Closer to an angel,” I said. “Or two.”
Hannah and Diana stormed in. “We’re hungry,” Diana signed. “Feed us.”
“Sit,” I signed. Then I told them what had happened. Their eyes widened. “You’re serious?” they signed in unison.
“Yes,” I signed. “Because you thought about kids like you. That’s huge.”
They launched at me, hugging, crying, laughing.
“I promised I wouldn’t leave you,” I signed. “Deaf, hearing, rich, broke—I’m your mom. And I always will be.”
Later, when everyone slept, I scrolled through their baby photos. Two tiny girls, abandoned in the cold, had saved me right back.
People sometimes say, “You saved them.”
They have no idea.
Those girls saved me right back.
