For thirty years, I was deceived. I thought my parents had abandoned me and had adopted me.
I thought I had been unwelcome. But when I entered the orphanage that was meant to be my first home, I discovered something that nothing—nothing—could have prepared me for.
I was three years old when it all began. My father placed a heavy hand on my small shoulder as he seated me down on the couch.
“Sweetheart, there’s something you should know.”
I clutched my favorite stuffed rabbit and looked up at him, wide-eyed.
“Your real parents couldn’t take care of you,” he said gently. “So your mom and I stepped in. We adopted you to give you a better life.”
My mother passed away in a vehicle acci:dent six months later. I hardly remember her, only the tenderness of her touch and the warmth of her voice. It was just my dad and myself after that.
When I was six, I struggled to tie my shoes. Frustrated, I started crying. My dad sighed loudly and muttered, “Maybe you got that stubbornness from your real parents.”
I stopped asking questions by the time I was a teenager. He gave me a single sheet of paper, a certificate bearing my name, a date, and a seal, the only time I ventured to request my adoption documents.
“See? Proof,” he had said.
I stared at it, feeling like something was missing. But I had no reason to doubt him. Why would I?
Then I met Matt.
He saw through me in a way no one else had. “You don’t talk about your family much,” he observed one night.
I shrugged. “There’s not much to say.”
However, there was. He spoke of my “real parents” as if I were a burden that had been transferred to him. My classmates’ murmurs, inquiring as to whether I would ever be “sent back.”
“Have you ever looked into your past?” Matt asked me one evening.
“No. My dad already told me everything.”
“Are you sure?”
I was plagued by the question.
I therefore made the decision to learn the truth for the first time in my life.
When my father informed me that I had been adopted, Matt and I took a car to the orphanage. As we entered, my hands began to shake. An elderly woman smiled warmly as she greeted us and inquired about how she could assist.
“I was adopted from here when I was three,” I explained, my voice shaking. “I’d like to find out more about my birth parents.”
After giving a nod, she started typing on her computer.
She looked up at last, her face unreadable.
“I’m sorry,” she said slowly. “We have no record of you here.”
The air left my lungs. “What?”
“Are you sure this is the right orphanage?”
“Yes!” I insisted, my voice rising. “This is the place. My dad took me here every year. He showed me this place!”
She shook her head. “If you had been here, we would have records. But there’s nothing. I’m so sorry.”
I felt like the ground had been ripped out from under me.
The car ride home was silent. Matt kept glancing at me, his concern obvious, but I couldn’t speak.
“Are you okay?” he finally asked.
I stared out the window. “No. I need answers.”
And I was fully aware of where to find them.
I didn’t think twice when we pulled up to my dad’s house. I bounded on the door and strode up the stairs.
He opened it, his face lined with surprise. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
“I went to the orphanage,” I said, my voice shaking with fury. “They don’t have any record of me. Why would they say that?”
For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, he let out a long, weary sigh and stepped back. “Come in.”
I barely waited for him to sit down before I demanded, “Tell me the truth. Right now.”
He rubbed a hand over his face, looking suddenly older. “I knew this day would come.”
“What are you talking about?” I snapped. “Why did you li:e to me?”
He was silent for so long that my pulse roared in my ears. Then, in a voice so low I almost didn’t hear him, he said the words that shattered everything I had ever known.
“You weren’t adopted. You’re your mother’s child… but not mine.”
My heart stopped. “What?”
“She had an affair,” he admitted, his voice bitter. “When she got pregnant, she begged me to stay. I agreed, but I couldn’t look at you without seeing what she did to me. So I made up the adoption story.”
The room spun. “You… you li:ed to me for my entire life?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I was angry. I thought… maybe if you believed you weren’t mine, it would be easier for me to accept. Maybe I wouldn’t hate her so much. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
I was shaking. “You fa:ked the adoption papers?”
“Yes.”
The betrayal was suffocating. The teasing, the comments, the orphanage visits—it was never about me. It was about him. His pain. His resentment.
I stood up, my legs unsteady beneath me. “I can’t do this,” I whispered. “I was just a kid. I didn’t deserve this.”
“I know,” he said, his voice breaking. “I know I failed you.”
Matt stood too, his jaw tight as he glared at my father. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s go.”
As we walked to the door, my dad’s voice called after me. “I’m sorry! I really am!”
But I didn’t turn around.
For the first time in my life, I was walking away from the past. And this time, I wasn’t looking back.
