The Unwritten Past

Your parents tell you that they actually don’t know whose child you are.-This prompts is an invitation to step inside writing creativity - Kelsey Worsham

The living area was bathed in a warm glow as late afternoon sun passed through the drapes. Sitting on the couch, my parents were across from me, their faces remarkably austere. Her knuckles white, my mother held a letter in her hands. My father fixed his gaze on the floor.

"Mom, dad, what's going on?" Anxiety swelling up inside me asked.

Her eyes shining with unshed tears, my mother inhaled deeply. "Lena, we have to let you know something. It's about your background, about your past.

I scowled, perplexity washing over me. "What would you mean?"

At last, my father raised his voice strainedly. Lena, we have no idea whose child you are.

The room seemed to slink forward, the words ringing in my ears. "what?" You are referring to what?

My mother gave me the letter while her hands shook. The day we brought you home, we discovered this in your crib. We never told you since we had no idea how.

I grabbed the letter and worked through the yellowed pages with shaky hands. Although the calligraphy was beautiful, the words really hurt to the gut.

'Dear Finder,

This child is a gift, a blessing masquerading as otherwise. We cannot take care of her; nevertheless, we hope you will. Her past is unknown; her beginnings are unknown. As your own, kindly love her.

With hope, A Stranger's

I looked up; tears distorted my view. So you just found me?

Tears pouring down her cheeks, my mother nodded. "We discovered you blanket-covered on our doorway. There were no leads or hints when we tried to ascertain your source. From the minute we saw you, we loved you; we could not bear to let you go.

My father stretched out his hand. "Our daughter Lena has always seen you as hers. Your daughter is ours. nothing alters that.

A thousand questions fought for my attention as my head spun. But why did you not tell me?

We were scared, my mother said. "frightened you would feel abandoned; frightened you would want to leave us to locate your true parents. We were not ready to lose you.

I watched back, attempting to make sense of this bombshell. Not my biological parents were the folks who had reared me and loved me. My past was a blank sheet, a tale without a beginning.

After a protracted stillness, I spoke, my voice calm. "Where from is something I need to know. I have to get to know myself.

My father nodded, his hold on my hand strengthening. "We shall assist you, Lena. We will support you whatever it takes.

We started looking for explanations over the next two weeks. We hired private investigators, pored over past records, and even made calls to nearby news stations. Every day presented fresh frustrations as well as promise.

One evening I came onto something while sorting through some old boxes in the attic. a little, finely crafted wooden box I had never seen before. Inside was a locket containing a faded picture of a young woman together with a tiny piece of paper including an address.

My heart thumping, I showed it to my parents. This... this could be a clue.

The address brought us to a few hours' distance little town. The next day we drove there, the trip a roller coaster of anxiety and expectation. Our arrival revealed a charming small cottage with ivy growing up the walls. An old woman answered the door, her eyes enlarging over my hand and locket.

"That locket," said Many years ago, I handed it to my daughter. Her voice quivering. One night she vanished; I never saw her again.

Margaret, the woman we sat with, told us about her daughter Emily. Emily had fallen in with a negative group and vanished one evening leaving no evidence but the locket.

Margaret fixed me with tears in her eyes. "Your appearance resembles hers. You really have to be her daughter.

That turned out to be a mixed blessing. I had located some of my past, but it was entwined with grief and loss. Margaret, my grandmother, welcomed me as though she knew me all my life.

My mind was whirlpool of emotions as we headed home. Though my heart belonged to the parents who had reared me, who had loved me without conditions, I had discovered my roots.

Perched in the rear row, I grinned and glanced at my parents—my own parents. "Thank you for everything," I murmured, sounding really appreciative. "You will always be my dad and mum, no matter what."

Their loving eyes gleamed back at each other. And in that instant I realized family was about love, trust, and the relationships we build rather than only about blood. Though my background was unknown, my present was full with the people most important.