I remember that day as if it were carved into my bones—the tension in the car so heavy I could barely breathe.
Dad’s hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. I sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed, glaring out the window at the endless line of houses. The silence between us wasn’t peaceful—it was loud, screaming with all the things we didn’t say.
Finally, I snapped.
“Why do I have to do this on my day off?” I shot at him, my voice sharp. “Couldn’t you have taken a taxi? Or asked literally anyone else?”
Dad’s head jerked toward me, his eyes narrowing. His voice cracked like a whip.
“Lucy! How can you say that? Your mother needs help. All she asked is that you pack a few things. Is it really too much to ask?”
I rolled my eyes, but inside my chest, old anger was stirring.
“You know exactly what my relationship with her is like…”
“I know!” he cut me off, his voice rising. “You haven’t spoken in over ten years. You’re so stubborn—just like her.”
That word hit me like a slap. I spun toward him, my voice trembling with anger.
“Stubborn? She ruined my life, Dad! She controlled every single decision I made!”
“Don’t exaggerate,” he snapped back. “She only wanted you to have a decent education.”
“All I ever did was study, follow her rules, and sacrifice what I wanted! I just wanted her to be proud of me, but it was never enough!”
Dad’s voice softened, almost pleading. “She did it because she loves you, Lucy.”
I turned my face to the window, my throat tightening.
“Funny. My life finally started to feel better the moment I stopped talking to her.”
“Lucy…” he sighed, but I cut him off sharply.
“No. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s just get this over with.”
When the car stopped in front of my parents’ old house, I slammed the door shut so hard it rattled. Every step I took toward the front door felt like walking into a storm.
The smell of dust and old wood hit me the second I stepped inside. The living room was frozen in time, like a faded photograph of a past I no longer wanted.
Dad trailed behind me, pulling a folded piece of paper from his pocket. His brows knitted as he squinted at the small, messy writing.
“Hold on… I can’t read this tiny print,” he muttered.
I sighed, my irritation slipping through. “Let me help.”
He handed it to me, sheepishly smiling. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
I smoothed the creases and read it aloud. “A lamp, some dishes, books, photo albums, and valuables from the safe.”
Simple. Routine. Nothing emotional.
Dad headed to the kitchen while I climbed the creaky stairs to the bedroom. The air was heavy with old memories, pressing down on me like a weight.
I opened drawers, pulled out books, photo albums, and slipped them into a bag, checking items off the list one by one.
And then I saw it.
At the very bottom, in a smaller, shakier handwriting, was a note:
“Do not show Lucy.”
My heart thudded in my chest. My hands trembled as I held the paper closer.
Do not show Lucy? What was so important, so dangerous, that it needed to be hidden from me?
“Lucy! You need any help?” Dad’s voice drifted up from the kitchen.
I startled, clutching the list. My voice came out high, strained. “No, Dad! I’m almost finished!”
The code for the safe was scribbled right there on the page. My breath quickened as I punched it in. With a metallic click, the safe swung open.
Inside, as expected, sat a jewelry box. But something else was pushed way in the back.
A dusty, rectangular package.
My fingers shook as I pulled it out and unwrapped it.
A videotape.
Its black casing was worn, its label missing. My mind flooded with questions. Why would they hide this from me? Why the warning?
Ignoring the knot in my stomach, I slipped the tape into my coat pocket. Whatever it was, I needed to know.
“All done?” Dad asked as I came back down.
“Yes. Let’s just go,” I replied quickly, brushing past him, the weight of the tape pressing against my side like a secret heartbeat.
At the nursing home parking lot, the building loomed cold and sterile. I froze, my grip on the steering wheel iron tight.
Dad looked at me. “Are you coming in with me?” His voice was gentle, almost hopeful.
I shook my head quickly. “No. You go. I packed everything. I don’t want to see her.”
“But Lucy…” he tried, his voice soft. “She’s your mom.”
My temper snapped. “Don’t start this again. I don’t want to see her or talk to her. Period.”
He sighed heavily, defeated. “Fine. Just… know she loves you very much.”
I didn’t answer.
When he disappeared inside, I drove away, my chest twisted with guilt I didn’t want to feel.
Back at home, I pulled out the tape. It felt heavier now, like it carried the weight of the truth.
I dug through closets until I found the old VCR, layered in dust. After fumbling with tangled wires and squinting at an online guide, I managed to hook it up to the TV.
“Please work,” I whispered, sliding the tape in.
The screen flickered. Static. Lines. And then—images.
My breath caught.
It was my parents. Young. Laughing. My mom’s voice was full of warmth as she filmed. My dad crouched down, his arms open wide.
And in his arms was a little girl.
A little girl who looked exactly like me.
Same dark hair. Same bright smile.
But then my mom’s voice rang out, clear through the grainy static:
“Chloe! Come here, Chloe! You’re such a clever girl!”
My heart slammed against my ribs.
Chloe? Who was Chloe?
The girl was me. She looked just like me. But my name… was Lucy.
I couldn’t breathe. My parents had only ever had one child. Me.
Or so I thought.
I turned the TV off abruptly, my hands trembling.
There was only one person who could explain.
I grabbed my keys and drove, barely noticing the blur of traffic lights.
The nursing home felt colder this time. At the front desk, a kind woman looked up with a smile.
“Hello, may I help you?” she asked.
I steadied my shaking voice. “My mother is here. I need to see her.”
“What’s her name?”
“Emma,” I said quickly.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Emma… oh. Are you Lucy?”
The way she said it stopped me. “Yes. Why?”
Her smile softened. “Your mother talks about you all the time. She’s been asking for you every week. She’ll be so happy to see you.”
Guilt twisted inside me. “Yeah… we have a complicated relationship,” I muttered.
“She’ll be thrilled,” the woman assured, leading me down the hall.
When I stepped inside the room, Mom and Dad were sitting together by the window. Their conversation stopped instantly.
Their eyes widened as if they were seeing a ghost.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I said, forcing my voice steady.
“Lucy!” Mom’s voice cracked, tears instantly welling. “Oh, my love, I’ve missed you so much!” She held out her arms, desperate to embrace me.
I didn’t move. Instead, I pulled the videotape from my bag.
“I found this,” I said, my voice like ice. “‘Do not show Lucy.’ Care to explain?”
Her face drained of color. Tears spilled before she could even speak.
“Lucy… I’m so sorry. We never meant for you to find out like this.”
“Find out what?” I demanded, my heart hammering.
Her hands clasped tightly together, her voice trembling.
“Chloe was our first daughter. She was… everything to us. But she died in a car accident when she was just a little girl.”
The world tilted under me.
“I don’t… I don’t understand. Who am I then?”
Mom broke down completely, sobbing. “We adopted you, Lucy. You were a baby when we brought you home. We loved you instantly, more than words could ever say. We promised ourselves we’d never tell you—because to us, you were ours in every way that mattered.”
My chest ached, my mind spinning. Adopted? My whole life…
But looking at her, trembling and broken, all I felt was something I hadn’t felt in years—her love.
Slowly, I stepped forward. Tears blurred my vision as I wrapped my arms around her.
“You’re my mom. That’s all that matters,” I whispered into her hair.
And for the first time in over a decade, I felt free.