I knelt, hands shaking, and dug out a box. It was rusty, heavy, and older than anything I’d ever owned. I brushed off the dirt and unlatched the box.
The ground gave easily.
Inside, nestled in yellowing tissue, lay a small envelope with my name. There was also a photo of a man in his 30s holding a newborn, the hospital light bright above them.
There was a faded blue hospital bracelet, my birth name printed in block letters.
My vision tunneled.
I sat down in the dirt, clutching the photo.
“No… no. That’s not… that’s me?!”
I fumbled for the letter, tearing it open with shaky hands.
There was a faded blue hospital bracelet.
“My darling Tanya,
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve left this world before telling you the truth myself.
I didn’t abandon you. I was removed. Your mother was young, and my own mistakes were many. Her family thought they knew best.
