Return to Sender

Return to Sender

The cardboard was slightly damp, and the corners were beginning to crease. I placed the box on the countertop, not paying any mind to the sopping puddle that was forming beneath. I reached over the sink and heaved. I ran the water over my mess and wiped the filth from my lips using the back of my hand.

I had been waiting years for this package and this is how I react?

I walked into the next room, stopping in front of a corkboard covered in articles, clippings, and internet searches dating back decades. My eyes scanned the documents, taking in the posted notes slathered across in my own slanted writing. Where was this filmed? Who is she talking to? Look for sources. Each note asked more and more questions without receiving a response. Suddenly, my body caved in on itself and I slunk into the overstuffed armchair in the corner of the room. My entire life seemed to have culminated to this point and all my searching, sleuthing, and interrogations were about to be unfolded underneath a brown paper box.

My breath was laboured, and I could feel my heart rattling against my rib cage. I needed to move, to pace. I stood up and returned to my board. Pinned in the middle was a photograph of a beautiful woman with long, dark hair and flashing green eyes. I peeled the picture off the wall and cradled it in my hands as if it were a butterfly that would crumble beneath my grasp. I traced the outlined of the woman’s face with my pointer finder, ending at her bow shaped lips. I knew everything possible about this woman without ever hearing her voice or looking at the way her eyes moved as I asked my thousand questions.

I had chased this woman across the country and had questioned nearly every person she had every contacted. The cardboard delivery was my last hope.

I carefully placed the photo back and crept out of the room and to the kitchen. I needed a drink.

Unscrewing the top of my emergency whiskey, I poured the liquid in a clean glass. Once the burning liquid slid down my throat, I felt the fire ignite in my chest. It had been a half hour since I had returned home. and I had yet to open the package. I wasn’t sure what I was more scared of; finding everything I had looked for or meeting a final dead end. Either way, at least I would finally have my answers.

The woman needed to answer my questions. I am owed that.

My glass hit the counter with a slight clink, and I walked towards the box. I ran my fingertips along the seam, and I pulled at the tape. The weather had made it incredibly easy to open and it shed its protective layer without much effort. I peered inside and my breath stopped.

There was one large folder inside. I reached in and pulled it out. Written across the front in large bold lettering read “What you asked for”.

My heart stopped beating. I slid my hand across the top of the papers and pulled out the first and most important piece of information. Across the top was a name and a phone number. This is what I had been looking for.

I reached for my cell phone and immediately dialed the number. Each series of ringing sounded like an alarm in my ears.

There was a click.

“Hello?” A raspy voice answered.

I swallowed.

“Is this Naomi?”

“Speaking.” The voice replied.

It was now or never.

“Naomi…I think I am your daughter.”