The Letter

This was not my first time in this place. This place was what I called home every day after school when I was kicking a football.

I never could quite understand the reasons why me, my friends always came here for our food, I guess it has something to do with my parents owning this place. 

But that seems a long time ago now as I sit here in my brand new suit, sweating like I was running the London marathon.

“Have a slice of your mother's cake David. She calls it death by chocolate.” My Father chuckled as a slice of the three-layered fudge cake, with thick ganache in between each layer, was now in front of me. I can see why she has called this cake death by chocolate. 

“No, I cannot,” I respond pushing the slice of heaven towards my Father who just shrugs and begins to eat it. 

“That is your fourth piece this week Peter.” Came the soft voice of my mother as she took the cake away from my Father whilst hitting him with the tea towel she had in her hands. “What am I going to do with you.” She said softly as both of them began to laugh. 

They have been married for well over thirty years now having met when they were teenagers. She keeps hinting at me to settle down and marry and more importantly give her grandchildren. But I know that is not why they called me here. 

Something seemed off about the call that I had with my Father. His voice seemed nervous like he was worried about who was listening. Which let me tell you is the complete opposite of my father’s usual tone.

“So how are things?” Mother asked trying not to sound nosey. I snapped back into the room, not knowing how to answer. I mean life is good, but I feel like I have felt my whole life like something is missing. Something that just is not right. Like I am missing a piece of the puzzle. 

Don’t get me wrong, at this moment in time, I am highly successful. I own a real estate empire worth a couple of million a year in passive income. I invested in bitcoin before the market went crazy and I own a nice house with everything I need. 

Life could not be better, when I look at how my friends have turned out working every day for scraps, I have succeeded. 

But it never seems to be enough for me, that adventure is out there waiting like I am meant to be doing more than what I am. 

“Honey?” Mother looks at me worried. “Is everything okay? You do not seem to be in the room, or on this planet right now.” I can tell she is worried. 

I smile. “Everything is fine. I just feel like something is missing and before you say anything my love life has nothing to do with it.” I reply knowing that my mother was going to ask me that next. 

“You need some proper food.” My mother’s response. This was always her response to all of life’s emergencies. It is why my father has such a stomach. 

“I am training for a five-kilometer mother,” I say as I eye up that cake again. I take a deep inhale of breath. The smell of coffee and sugar fills my nostrils. It has been years since I had touched anything like that. 

I look over towards my parents. My dad now into his fifties was sitting in the chair with the sudoku from the free metro newspaper anyone could get on the bus. He was wearing a shirt that may have been fashionable in the eighties when he bought it, but now was just warn, and no longer could fully cover his stomach. 

I moved my head right to look at my mother. She was wearing her usual business attire, an old pale yellow shirt and an apron with her name on. With the same faded blue jeans, she wore every Thursday for the last seven years. 

I stare behind them at the photographs stuck on the wall. I have seen all of these before, they show me throughout my earlier years, the big party that was thrown when my team the Sheffield Titans won the Yorkshire under thirteens cup for the first time in their history. I played as the goalkeeper, I was like a brick wall that year. You know that old story that everyone would have turned professional if it was not for a bad knee injury. 

Well, my story was slightly more embarrassing when I tried to pull a stunt on a BMX bike outside Sarah Jones’ house at her birthday party when I was fifteen. I was trying to impress her but ended up flying off the bike as I went to go for a massive jump over a dirt pile. I landed in the chocolate birthday cake and broke my wrist and collarbone as well as three ribs. Doctors said I was lucky to only have that. 

Well, the Everton academy soon dropped me after learning what I had done and that was the end of my playing days. 

“Those were the good old days weren’t they?” My mother whispered after seeing where I had been staring. “I heard that Sarah became a solicitor you know and she is single.” A smirk came over me. Mothers face. 

“Here we go again.” I thought. Looking for a way out of this conversation for what seemed like the millionth time since I retired three years ago at the age of thirty.

“Look,” I say hoping to turn the attention away from what is happening inside my head right now. 

“You did not just call me here for a quick chit chat and catch up, what is the issue.” I finish looking at the faces of my parents turn from that happy to see me, to worry about the news that they have to tell me. 

“Well.” My father began, looking at me dead in the eyes. I now know something is wrong, my father has only ever had this look on his face once before, when the family dog passed away when I was eighteen. 

“Well you know how we are your parents, and we have always been your family?” He stuttered throughout the sentence. 

My heart began to beat faster, there was no way that this was going to be the start of a nice surprise. 

I looked over to my mother whose hand had no tightened on my father's shoulder so much that her fingers were now turning red from the amount of tension and blood in them. 

I looked back across to my father, whose facial expressions had not changed one bit. 

I nod. “Well, of course, I think the pictures on the wall show that,” I said with a slight chuckle to my voice. 

“Well, two days ago we received this letter.” My father states as he shows me an envelope. There is nothing special about this envelope, it is the same as the ones I have seen many times before except that this one is brown and not white. 

“What is in the letter?” I ask, trying not to sound scared. At this moment I started to understand what this letter was about to say. \I could feel my palms and face getting hotter, my heart pounding as I watched my father lay the letter in front of me, with the back facing me so I could not see anything on the front side. 

I looked up at my father, whose eyes showed a sadness that I could not describe. I looked across to my mother, who was now trying to hold back tears. I could not wait any longer. I picked up the envelope, it had already been open and I took out the letter that was inside. 

It read:

Dear David,

It has been a long time and I know that this will come out of the blue and may cause you some distress. I do not mean to cause you any distress at all, but now I think it is time you knew the truth. A truth that I have wanted to tell you for years.

Thirty years ago, I had a son named Matthew Daniels, who I had to put up for adoption due to my circumstances. 

That child was you, David. 

Now I know this may come as a shock to you, I know it is difficult to comprehend but I wanted you to know the truth. My phone number is at the bottom. 

I know you must have questions, I hope that you give me the chance to answer them.

Love you,

Your Real Mum.

I take a double-take as a re-read the letter trying not to let the sorrow exit me. Anger builds up as I see tear stains on the letter. 

I looked up at my parents, both trying to hold back tears. “Why did you not tell me sooner?” I ask, almost shouting with rage. 

My mother goes to answer but the words will not come out. “It is okay dear I will answer.” My Father says as he pats my mother's hand that was on his shoulder.

“Well son, you see your mother, that is your real mother, was having a hard time. Her boyfriend your father was a drug user, and your mother was trying her best to escape him, but she had no family to help. When she realised she was pregnant, she immediately wanted to put you up for adoption, because of her situation. We could not conceive, I am unfortunately infertile, due to a rare condition. We knew of your mother and so offered to take you in. That is what happened.” My father whispered as he looked down.

“So why was I never told? Why was my right to see my mother held from me?” I ask, with the mixture of anger and tears flowing. My hands are clenched making fists, I want to scream but I know that will solve nothing. 

“We were scared you would want to go with her.” My mother says whilst sobbing. Suddenly everything became clear, that feeling I was missing. I never belonged and the sadness overtakes me. Through tears, I nod my head and understand why they could never tell me. I understand why they were always so scared to let me out of their sight for too long. Everything in my existence makes sense.

“Look, son.” My father says reaching his hands across the table and engulfing mine and squeezing tightly. “We were wrong to keep this from you, and we want to make it right. Your biological mother is sitting in the back waiting to see you if you want. But no matter what you choose we will always love you.” My father holds back his tears and smiles. A small warmness came over me. I tried to smile.

I looked at the door deciding what to do. I knew I had to go through that door. “Look you both are my parents, even if that is not by blood that will never change. Will you both come through with me?” I ask. Immediately I could see both their heads pick up and warmness re-enter their bodies. 

“Of course we will.” My mother smiled. “That is what families are for.” She finished and stood up. We stood at the door. “Go on son we’re right behind you now and forever.” My mother whispered. I am nervous about what the next minute holds.

But now it’s time. Now with the smell of my mother's cake in the background is the time for me to become complete and to know who I truly am. I walk through the door to try and find my truth. Feeling for the first time scared of what I will find.