Jess

Late that morning, a passing driver spots the baby.

She's picked up, wrapped in a jumper and taken to hospital.

A small miracle.

For years, I've thought about that day and wondered about the baby and the mother who left her there.

Because right from the start, there were questions.

We lived nearby.

I was just eight at the time.

But even at that young age, we knew that this real-life mystery happening on our doorstep was a big deal.

I can still remember where I was when I was told about the abandoned baby.

I can see myself now.

I'm walking out of the black school gates.

The sun's on my face.

Our nanny's come to pick me up and she's standing there in the car park.

You won't believe what happened today, she says.

And what she recounts, the lane, the baby, the passing driver, it feels like a scene from a film.

Except it's a film that, to this day, my sisters and I still can't quite make sense of.

That evening, we watch the six o'clock Anglian news.

Our big boxy telly lived on a tall chest of drawers and I had to crane my neck a bit to see it.

No one knows how the baby came to be there, but we feel like detectives because we're close to this story.

We actually know the woman who found the baby.