I slowly tip-toed through the kitchen, towards the refrigerator to grab a quick snack. I heard my mom and her friend Jennifer, outside on the patio laughing as they enjoyed lunch together. In my attempt to be sneaky, I ended up knocking down a bag of apples that scattered all over the kitchen, as they lay helplessly on the floor.

“Amy? Is that you? Sweetie, what are you doing home so early?” My mother asked with her left eyebrow raised.

“Oh… hey mom, yeah I wasn’t feeling good so I came home early. I was just grabbing a snack,” I looked around nervously trying to avoid any eye contact.

“That’s the third time this week you’ve skipped class,” you could tell she was unimpressed with me.

“Oh give the girl a break Heather! I’m sure she has enough to stress about, she doesn’t need her mother nagging at her,” Jennifer interrupted with a wink. I flashed her a small smile as I quickly made my way upstairs.



The following week I went to all my classes just to satisfy my mother. By the end, I was exhausted and wanted to do nothing more than to lie peacefully in bed. When I got home, there was a letter waiting for me on the front steps. I sat down at the end of the staircase and opened the letter, with no idea what to expect. To my surprise, it read:

“Dear Amy,



There is no other way that I can say this, but now that you are old enough, I feel that you have the right to know. I’m so sorry to have kept this from you but I just couldn’t bring myself to accept the fact that I lost you. Please understand that I had no choice at the time…”

Included in the envelope was an 8x11 photo of a women I’ve never seen before in a hospital bed, holding a newborn baby. As I looked at it a second time, I noticed the child has a birth mark on their foot, identical to mine. But the woman that was holding the newborn did not have long brown hair like my mother, but instead short blond hair.

At first I felt pain, like a knife stabbing deep into my heart, pouring out every negative emotion possible. I asked myself “How could my parents not tell me? Were they ever going to?” What was the point of being “Daddy’s little girl,” and having my mother as my best friend if they truly are not my parents. Everything suddenly felt meaningless. Then, the denial set in and I refused to accept that this was real. I tried to tell myself that the letter was accidentally mailed to the wrong house and it was never really for me. Tears started streaming down my face as I began to think about how this couldn’t be real. Some person had to be deeply heartless to pull a prank like this. After sitting on the wooden floor and staring at the photo for half an hour, I was angry. I stood up and ran out of my house and slammed the door loudly behind me. I stomped my feet across the already dead grass with my hands in fits at my side.

I sat on a cold lumpy rock that was covered in moss, as I deeply inhaled my cigarette. I tried my hardest not to think about what just happened. I couldn’t get my mind off that one question that floated around in my head. I realized that I would have to deal with my so called “parents”, once I got home. At this point, I didn’t know what to believe anymore. I threw the cigarette carelessly on the ground and pulled out a lighter as I began to light another one.
* * *

I took a deep breath and embraced myself for what was going to happen next once I walked through the door. I slowly turned the doorknob and squeeze my tiny body through the door. I opened my mouth but before words could flow out, I heard Heather yelling on the phone. I began to call her Heather instead of mother, because I wasn’t sure who my real mother was anymore. She sounded frustrated; I snuck behind the wall to get a better listen.

“You had absolutely no right to go and do that. We had an agreement,” she said as she slammed the phone and walked out the back door.

An agreement?! Was that all I was to them? If that woman never gave me that envelop, would my parents ever have told me? Who does she think she is, deciding if the women can come near me or not?! Again, I felt my body boil as it filled with anger. I emotionally prepare myself as I walk towards the back door. I bring my hand up to slide the back door open when I’m interrupted. I twisted my head around as the kitchen phone rings, my eyes locking tight at
the vibrating object. My arm drops as my heart beat increases. It was the women calling back. I walk cautiously towards the phone and hesitate to pick it up. By the fifth ring, I knew that if I didn’t pick up now, I would regret the decision. My hand trembles as I reach for the phone. I take a deep breath and embrace myself for a life changing phone call.