I grew up knowing I was adopted. My parents were open about it. It was just a fact, like my obsession with strawberry smoothies or my fear of the dark until I was 13.
They called me their gift. They’d longed for a child, and when they found me, I was their everything. I never questioned their love.
My life was good. A snug home, parents who never missed my dance recitals, and evenings baking cookies with Mom. They were my rock.
They helped with math homework, cheered me through failures, and hugged me after my first breakup. I never needed to know my origins.
But before my 18th birthday, strange things started. An email arrived. “Happy birthday, Chloe. I want to see you.” No name, no hint.
I brushed it off. Then, a blank profile, “Rachel T.,” sent me a friend request on Snapchat. I ignored it, feeling uneasy.
On my birthday, a knock came. Mom was making waffles, Dad was pouring juice. The sound felt heavy, like a warning.
“Chloe, the door!” Mom called. I went, my stomach knotting. When I opened it, my world turned upside down.
A woman stood there, clutching the porch rail. Her red hair was tangled, her eyes sunken. She gasped when she saw me. “Chloe?”
“Who are you?” I asked, nervous. Her voice trembled. “I’m your birth mom.” My heart raced. This couldn’t be real.
“I know it’s shocking,” she said, stepping closer. “But please, listen.” Her eyes held pain, longing, something that stopped me.
I should’ve shut the door. But her gaze was raw, full of regret. I couldn’t move, caught by her desperate look.
“Your parents lied,” she said, her voice shaky. “They stole you from me.” She grabbed my hands, her fingers cold.
“What are you saying?” I asked, stunned. She pulled out papers—birth records. Her name, Rachel Tate, was there.
“I didn’t want to lose you,” she said, tears falling. “I was young, alone. They said you’d be better off. I’ve hated myself since.”
My hands shook as I read. Could it be true? Had my parents, my family, kept this secret all these years?
“Come with me,” she said. “This could be yours,” she said. “We can live the life we were meant to have.” I wanted to refuse, but I needed to know.
I said I’d meet her at a coffee shop. Then I faced my parents. They were laughing, ready for my birthday cake.
“Something happened,” I said. Mom’s smile dropped. Dad froze. “A woman came,” I said. “She says she’s my birth mom.”
The room went quiet. Mom gripped her chair. Dad’s face hardened. “She said you tricked her,” I said. “You took me.”
Mom’s eyes watered. “That’s not true, Chloe,” she said. Dad nodded. “She’s manipulating you.” I shook my head, confused.
“How do you know?” I asked. Mom’s voice broke. “We knew she might come,” she said. “We hoped it wouldn’t be like this.”
“I need to know her,” I said. “She wants me to stay with her for a week.” Mom gasped. Dad’s jaw clenched. “A week?”
“Please,” I said. “I have to figure this out.” Mom cried softly. Dad spoke. “She abandoned you, Chloe. Think about that.”
“I’ll call,” I promised. Mom sobbed. Dad nodded. “You’d better,” he said. I left, my heart in knots.
Rachel’s house was a mansion. Polished floors, crystal lights, a staircase like a dream. “This could be yours,” she said, her voice warm.
Guilt hit me. Had my parents kept me from this? From her? I agreed to stay a week to find out the truth.
The next day, a woman stopped me outside. “You’re Chloe,” she said. “I’m Margaret, Rachel’s neighbor.” I nodded, cautious.
“She didn’t tell you the truth,” Margaret said. My stomach sank. “What?” I asked. Margaret’s face was serious.
“Rachel gave you up willingly,” she said. “No one tricked her. She didn’t want you.” My chest tightened. “That’s a lie,” I said.
“I knew your grandfather,” Margaret said. “Rachel partied, spent everything. You were a burden to her. She never looked for you.”
I felt sick. “Why now?” I asked. Margaret sighed. “Your grandfather died. He left you his fortune. It’s yours now.”
It clicked. Rachel’s tears, her timing—it was about money, not me. I was her way to a rich life.
I packed my bag. Rachel stood by the stairs, glaring. “You’re leaving?” she asked, her voice sharp.
“Yes,” I said. “You wanted my inheritance, not me.” She scoffed. “I’m your mother.” I stared. “You abandoned me.”
“I’m taking the money,” I said. “I’ll pay for college and spoil my parents. They loved me when you didn’t.”
She went silent. I walked out. When I got home, my parents were waiting. I ran to Mom’s arms, tears falling.
“You’re home,” she whispered, holding me. Dad hugged us. “Good to have you back, kiddo,” he said.
I didn’t need a mansion or riches. I had my family—the ones who loved me, no matter what, always.
