I had to know the truth. They had lied to me. A simple enquiry before a routine blood test had revealed that I wasn’t who I assumed I was.
My best friend had been in an accident and I wanted to help her by giving blood. I knew the hospital where the ambulance had taken her, my family used the same one. It was the first time I went alone, and when I informed the nurse in reception about my mission, she went to retrieve our family’s file. That was when I saw it.
I stormed out of the hospital and raced home as fast as I could. The wind rushing past me on my scooter echoed the thoughts in my head. I should have known; I’ve been so blind and stupid! How could I not see it? My parents, no they were not my parents or were they? I called them Mum and Dad. They looked after me, taught me all I know and told me I was their precious daughter. But look, as it turns out, they’ve been keeping secrets all my life.
No wait, since I was two years old when they brought me home. They had kept the truth away from me for fourteen years.
I tore through the open gate, flung the scooter aside, raced up the stairs and in through the front door. Mum, or should I still call her that, was setting the table for dinner.
She looked up, smiled and was about to say something when I blurted out:
“Am I adopted?”
(c) Tolulope Popoola
Image credit: neconebooks.com