Average night for any teenager, checking Myspace, and watching the latest Zoey 101, then like a bolt of lightning, a knock struck the door. It was a knock that was filled with insecurity; a knock that could break a girl’s heart; a knock from the parents that were falling apart. Hesitating vibrations trickled down the bones in my fingers as they wrapped around the cold, bronze door handle. Opening the door was like opening the Hoover Dam dangerous and life changing. As the door slowly crept open, my eyes fell deep into the darkness of the hallway. A light whisper from my mother’s lips came from around the corner asking me to enter the living area. Chills ran down my spine, fear filled my eyes, as I walked down the hallway of broken memories.
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It had never been this way before, I had always had hope, and a strong heart filled with love for the both of them. Growing up, and reading my fairy tale books, love was supposed to last forever, and there was always a happy ending. I never thought that my fairy tale would be the tale no girl wanted to read or hear about. My father had always been away, working hours from home, and sometimes wouldn’t come home for days. Being a preteen I never really had thought much about it, just the mindset that it was part of his job, not that he had been living somewhere else all along. When he was home, it was rough, and sometimes I honestly dreaded it. I was a daddy’s girl for the longest time, then one day, a bruised that was placed around my forearm by his hand…changed everything. His words would make me cry for hours, I’d hide from my mom to show it never hurt, so maybe then she’d be okay. But, of course this never happened. My brother was too young to understand, so I didn’t have anyone to run to when my ears would ring with words from fights the past night. My family had always tried to help, be comforting, and try to be the bandage, but they never fully understood. My home life was like a puzzle with a missing piece, it was impossible to put back together.

Never feeling like I had belonged was also an issue, there was always something missing, and I tried to be oblivious to it, but again and again I was completely opposite from my family; the “odd-bald.”
I had always joked around about being adopted as I would see the world through different eyes, and my last name had always been different. I never thought the day would come when I found out why my last name had been different, and my adoption joke, wasn’t a joke at all. The man I had called my dad for 12 years, wasn’t my real dad. The grandparents, cousins, aunts, and uncles I had grown so close with, were not even my true relatives. My mom was my only biological relative that I knew of at this time, and finding this all out at once ripped me apart. I still can’t look at my family the same without feeling the slightest bit empty, and curious as to where I really belong.

My father had once been my godfather, then after marriage to my mother, he became the dad I knew to be my real dad, until now which also explains the adoption. Marrying my mother included me, a young new born being adopted into his life, and family. I had so many questions that I was afraid to ask, but I was informed that my biological father had run off, and wanted nothing to do with me. I will never hear his voice, or see his face, which includes never knowing my sister.
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Playing with the edges of the numbers on the remote, biting my lip trying to hold back the tears that were puddling inside my eyes, creating small waterfalls down my cheeks, I tried to breathe. I had just been told that the man I ran to and called daddy, was not my real dad, and that he was leaving my mom, which included, leaving us. I know most people have gone through a divorce, and of course we are told that our dad isn’t leaving us, but will always be there for us. This might be true in some cases, but not in mine. Years later, now being 18 years old I finally got my last name changed to his, to prove that I still have hope for him in my life, and I still want to hang on, but as strings fray off beautiful quilts, so does our love connection. I’m not his real daughter, so he honestly doesn’t have to be there for me like he does my brother, and I couldn’t imagine how hard it is to look at me, and know I’m not his flesh and blood. The hope I have leaking from my heart strands is running very low, and all I could ask is for him to be as close as he used to be before any of this happened. But sadly, the words “I love you” that come from his lips aren’t from his heart anymore.