My life had always been normal. I was just a typical teenage girl trying to find out who she was and where she fit in. I have struggled with making friends, passing classes and staying away from drama…but who hasn’t at this age? But yesterday, my life dramatically changed in the most bazaar way possible. If I was offered a billion dollars to guess this outcome, I would be broke, to say the least. The worst part is I don’t even know how to react to this situation; I feel like my whole life has been a lie, mostly because it has. I don’t know whether to be frustrated, angry, relieved or just plain confused. Truthfully, I am a combination of all these emotions mixed together. My heart has been non-stop pounding with anxiousness and my head is mushy like a bowl of nasty, old oatmeal. I wouldn’t expect any other person to react any differently if they were in my shoes. My life has seriously changed…for better or for worse I’m not quite sure…but it will never be the same again. I know you think I am probably just being dramatic, so I’ll let you decide your opinion for yourself.

So yesterday, my mom decided it was that time of year again: time for spring cleaning. I didn’t really mind cleaning. I loved organization and given the chance to start fresh, but I just wasn’t in the mood. I was exhausted and cranky, to say the least, from having been up to the break of dawn the night before. Nonetheless, I was forced to clean every crevice of the house until the smell of Lysol was overwhelming. The last place left to clean was the attic, which was left to me, of course. My mom went out to pick up take-out Chinese for dinner and told me to straighten it up while she was gone. Honestly, I don’t know why she sent me in the attic because what I found in a box up there is what immensely changed my life. She forgot what was up there, I guess, but she really made a mistake sending me there…a mistake that would drastically change my identity and my life.

Anyway, I headed upstairs to the top floor and struggled to pull down the ladder from the ceiling, but finally got it. I ascended the ladder, which creaked beneath my feet with every step I took. Once up there, an overwhelming, unpleasant smell filled the air. I let out hundreds of sneezes from the excess dust and potential mold that was lurking throughout. I couldn’t remember the last time I’ve ever been up there, let alone cleaned it. I didn’t even know where to start. Everywhere you looked, there were cobwebs and dust covering every corner. It was appalling and I couldn’t believe I was stuck cleaning this filth.

Ahead of me in plain sight, there was a wooden rocking horse that I didn’t recognize. I never had one as a child and was confused why there was one in the attic. I was an only child so it didn’t really make sense to me why we had one that wasn’t mine; maybe it was my mom’s from her childhood, but I’m not sure why we still have it. It was very detailed, yet simple and I was a tad upset that I never had the chance to use it as a child.

I began to dust here and there, but then boredom set in; instead, I decided exploring would be more exhilarating. I looked through old boxes and bags, finding nothing but useless junk. I’m not sure why we even kept half the unnecessary stuff up there; it served no purpose other than to take up space. However, one particular, fairly small wooden chest did catch my attention.

I just happened to come across it by accident. It looked unique from the outside, very different from any other box up there. There was a lock attached to it, but it was delicate and didn’t work anymore, so there was no trouble with opening it. At first glance, I could see the box was filled with old, washed-out photographs. I couldn’t tell you the last time I ever saw any photos. To be honest, I don’t recall memory of ever seeing pictures of me when I was a child; I couldn’t even tell you what I looked like. This is sort of obscure and depressing to me. I wish I had the experience of looking through old pictures of myself, reminiscing about the good times. But honestly, I don’t even remember any good times from my childhood. It really is all a blur, and the times I do remember are never very pleasant. I never really had anyone there for me and the ones that were had died before I had the chance to really enjoy their presence.

The first picture I happened to pull out was of my dad. My eyes had never filled with tears so quickly. He looked so happy, so full of life and now, all of that is gone. This was the second picture I’ve ever seen of him, oddly enough. The first is a picture of him holding me as a baby which I keep in my wallet. Other than that, I have no recollection of what he looks like or how he was as a person. I like to imagine him as the best father in the world, as a funny, loving, caring guy who loved me unconditionally and always showed it. I miss him. I don’t even remember him that well at all, but I miss him with all my heart. My mom rarely talks about him, but when I ask, she assures me he was just wonderful. I wish I was given the chance to talk to him, but he passed away from illness when I was just two years old.

As my tears continued to fall on the picture of my dad, I picked up another one. This picture showed an older guy, probably in his early 40’s, lounging on the beach with a smile on his face that stretched ear to ear. He resembled my father, from what I’ve seen of him, but was much older than my dad ever was. My father was 23 years old when he died. My mother and he were young when they had me. I feel bad they never really had the life I imagined they wanted; my dad was way too young to die. I flipped over the card, expecting to see my grandfather’s name on the back. Instead, much to my surprise, I saw “Paul 1998,” which is my dad’s name and the year I was born. I was so confused; there’s no way it could’ve been my dad. This man was way too old to be my dad. It must’ve been a mistake. I didn’t really dwell on it; I just assumed that someone made a mistake when they were writing on it. That man in the picture had to be my grandfather.

The next picture I pulled out really stumped me. It showed a woman who looked like my mom holding me, but that wasn’t all. Next to my mom was the man from the second picture and an older woman. The older woman definitely wasn’t my grandmother. I know that for a fact; it looked nothing like her. I really didn’t know who it could be. I don’t have any aunts on either side, so I had absolutely no idea who the woman was. I was completely puzzled.

I didn’t have much time to react. The next thing I knew I heard my mom’s voice.

“Mallory, are you still up there?” she said.

I panicked. I didn’t know what to do with the picture. Should I show her? Or put it back like nothing happened? With seconds to spare, I grabbed the picture and shoved it in my back pocket. “Yeah Mom, be done in a second.” I said shakily.

My head was spinning in a hundred different directions. I was more confused than ever. Who was that woman? Was that man my grandfather? Was there a reason I had been sheltered from seeing family photographs for my whole life? I really didn’t know what to expect.

I climbed back down the ladder, pushed it back into the ceiling and headed down the steps to the kitchen where my mom was sitting, chowing down on some sweet and sour chicken.

“Did you finish cleaning up there?”

“Uh, I’m getting close. There’s a lot to clean up.”

The rest of our meal was in silence. I could tell she was suspicious of the noiseless meal considering I usually talk her ear off, but I couldn’t help it. My thoughts were still revolving entirely around that picture. I couldn’t decide whether to mention it or not. I finally decided not to, at least for a little while. I trotted into the sun room and shut my eyes. I had only planned on relaxing for a couple minutes, but a couple minutes quickly turned into a three hour nap and before I knew it, the sun had set.

When I fully awoke, I found my mom wasn’t around. I called her name a couple of times with no response. I was about to just call it a night; it had been such a long day, but then it dawned on me. She was in the attic.

I sprinted up the steps to find the ladder leading to the attic down, as I had suspected.

“Mom? Are you up there?”

I had already reached the attic floor before she could even respond. There she was, shuffling through tons of pictures from that little wooden chest. I was speechless. She was speechless. Silence filled the crammed attic. A glaze was passed between the two of us and before she had the chance to break the silence, I did.

“Why would you hide them from me?” I said unevenly, as tears began to fill my eyes uncontrollably.

“You don’t understand, Mallory. You don’t know the half of it.”

Tears began to pour down my face. I don’t know the half of it? Why would she say that? What was she hiding from me? I began sobbing hysterically. I had never been more upset and frustrated and confused in my entire life. Without thinking, I pulled out the picture from my back pocket and tossed it at her.

“Who are these people?!” I shrieked. “Who are they? Tell me the truth, Mom. Please just tell me the truth.”

She looked at the picture. She glared at it. And then, right in front of me, my mom began to bawl her eyes out. She cried and cried like I’ve never seen her cry before. I had no choice but to pull her in my arms and comfort her. I didn’t understand why she was so upset and I couldn’t think about the possibilities. I didn’t even know where to begin.

Once she settled down a little, I again asked her who they were.

“I don’t want you to hate me, Mallory. Please don’t despise me once I tell you the truth. You are going to hate me. Please know this wasn’t my choice. I never meant to hurt you. Please.”

My heart plummeted into my stomach. I had no idea where she was going with this. A million different scenarios popped into my head. All I knew was I needed to know the truth, no matter how painful it may be.

“What is it Mom?” Tears still fell down my face.

“Please don’t call me Mom.” she sobbed.

I was in disbelief. Her next words greatly changed my life forever. She began by telling me the two older people in the picture were my parents, as well as hers, and she was the woman who was holding me in the picture. The lady I had been calling my mom for my entire life was actually my biological sister. She explained to me what happened to my parents, but I must warn you, it isn’t exactly a happy ending.

My sister was off living on her own when my parents had me. The picture I had kept in my wallet of my dad holding me was actually a picture of him holding my sister. My parents were young when they had my sister, not me. My dad did die when I was two, but in the most unpleasant way possible. What hurts me the most was the image I had created for my dad was far from the truth. He was absolutely not the man I thought he could have been.

My sister said one night, my parents got into an extremely bad argument. She doesn’t even know what it was about, but it was probably a fight my dad had started. He was an alcoholic and did not treat my mother very well when he was drunk. My sister said he seriously abused her, but she refused to do anything about it. He really did love my mom, but his emotions and actions were uncontrollable when he was drunk. And so, on that night, the fight continued to get worse and worse by the second. My sister told me that I was in my crib while this was happening. My dad resorted to unreasonable measures that night. He went to his room and took out his hunting gun from the closet. That night, he murdered my mother and then took his own life. My sister told me I was extremely lucky to be alive.

I was in complete shock. “Why have I called you Mom all these years? Why did you put me through such a thing? Why did I deserve that?”

“It was our grandparents’ idea for me to raise you as my own and I did in a heartbeat. I knew I could give you a better life than any foster home ever could and you should be appreciative that I raised you. Most people wouldn’t.”

That answer didn’t suffice. So again, I asked her why I had called her Mom. She could’ve just as easily raised me as an older sibling, without the title of a parent. She responded selfishly, saying she was infertile, never would be able to have children and wanted to raise me as her own. I felt like I didn’t even know who she was anymore. I could not believe it. I had gone through my whole life not knowing my mom was dead and my sister was raising me because she was selfish and greedy?

“Did I deserve this? How could you ever do this to me?”

That was the end of our conversation. She walked away, tears streaming down her face. I guess she went right to bed, but I don’t know how she could’ve slept after that. I know I couldn’t. And now, I am left wondering if I’m dreaming or my family is that messed up.

And so, I hope you now understand my situation, or can at least sympathize. My life has turned completely upside down and I am completely lost. Everything I ever thought about my family is completely wrong and I now understand why I had been shunned from family memories. I cannot begin to understand my sister’s action nor my parents’ tragic death. My whole life feels like a complete lie and all I can say is you really can’t trust an