On the day of her 18th birthday, Emma’s world comes crashing down when a stranger knocks on her door claiming to be her real mother. Searching for answers, she leaves everything behind…and discovers a chilling truth. She’s been stolen…or abandoned? And now that she holds the key to a fortune, who really needs her and who just wants what she has?
Growing up, I always knew I was adopted. My parents never hid it from me. It was just a fact, like my love of vanilla ice cream, brushing horses, or the fact that I always needed a nightlight until I was twelve.
They told me I was the chosen one. That they had waited for years, hoping for a child, and when they found me, they loved me immediately.
And, of course, I believed them.
I had a good life. A warm home. Parents who never missed a football match, never forgot my birthday, never made me feel anything less than their daughter.
They packed my school lunches, helped me with my homework, and hugged me when I cried over my first heartache. And every day, my mum and I cooked dinner together. It didn’t matter if I was studying for exams or had a project.
It was…home. I was home.
I never questioned where I came from.
But a few weeks before my 18th birthday, something strange started happening.
It started with emails.
The first one came from an address I didn’t recognise.
Happy birthday, Emma. I’ve been thinking about you. I’d like to talk.
No name. No context. So I ignored it.
Then came a Facebook friend request from a profile with no picture. Her name was Sarah W. The request sat in my inbox unanswered.
And then, on the morning of my birthday, there was a knock.
I almost didn’t answer it. My parents were in the kitchen, making my special breakfast of pancakes and bacon, as they do every year. But something about the sound of that knock made my stomach clench.
I don’t know why, but it felt like a bad omen was about to burst into our lives.
‘Are you going to open the door, sweetie?’ my mum asked, taking up the bacon.
‘Of course, Mum,’ I replied, wiping my hands.
When I opened the door, I knew everything was about to change.
There was a woman standing on the porch, holding onto the railing as if it was the only thing keeping her on her feet. Her blond hair hung in disorderly waves, dark circles under her sunken eyes. Her gaze fell on me, and she inhaled sharply, as if she’d been holding it back for years.
‘Emma?’ – She sighed.
‘Yeah…who are you?’ I hesitated.
Her throat trembled, her lower lip quivered. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said the words that really changed everything, just as I’d felt seconds before.
‘I’m your mum.’
The floor beneath me faltered.
‘Your real mum,’ she added, stepping closer.
A cold, twisting feeling stirred in my stomach.
No. No. No. It couldn’t be.
This had to be a mistake.
‘I know it’s a shock,’ she said, her voice rough and rough. ‘But please, Emma. Please listen to me.’
I should have closed the door. I should have called my parents to deal with this man. But I didn’t. I couldn’t move.
Because the look in her eyes…it wasn’t just despair. It was sadness. Regret. And some kind of longing that seeped into my bones as soon as I was across from her.
‘Your foster parents…they lied to you,’ she said, wiping her forehead with the back of her palm.
My whole body tensed up.
‘They lied to me, Emma. And then they stole you from me!’ – she said, grabbing my hands, her grip trembling.
‘What are you talking about?’ I asked.
Tears glistened in her eyes as she pulled a folder out of her bag and shoved a stack of papers into my hands.
I lowered my gaze, not knowing what to expect.
Birth records. My actual birth records.
And there, underneath a large block of text, was a signature.
Her name.
‘I never meant to give you up, Emmy,’ she whispered. ‘That’s what I called you when you were in my belly. I was young and scared, but they convinced me that I wasn’t good enough. That you’d be better off without me. They manipulated me, and I’ve regretted it every day since.’
I looked at the papers again. My hands were shaking. My brain felt like it had frozen.
Emmy?
Could this really be true?
Had my parents been lying to me? My whole life?
She squeezed my hands tighter.
‘Just give me a chance, love. Come with me. Let me show you the life you were meant to have.’
I should have said no. I should have slammed the door in her face.
Right?
But I didn’t.
Because some part of me, some small, broken part of me, should have known.
I told Sarah I’d meet her at the diner.
Later, I stood in the living room, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shake the floor beneath me. Across from me sat my parents, their faces open, waiting. They were still smiling, still happy, still unaware of the bomb I was about to drop.
‘Ready for cake and ice cream?’ – My mum asked.
I swallowed. My throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper.
‘Something happened this morning,’ I said.
Mum’s smile faded at first.
Dad set aside his coffee.
‘What is it, sweetheart?’
I opened my mouth. Closed it. God, how was I supposed to say it?
I forced myself to say the words.
‘A woman came to our house.’
They both tensed.
‘She…she said she’s my birth mother.’
The air in the room changed.
Mum’s hand gripped the edge of the sofa tightly, her knuckles turning white. Dad’s face turned stony, as if someone had sucked all the warmth out of him in an instant.
Neither of them spoke.
‘She told me that…’ My voice shook. I calmed down. ‘She told me that you lied. That you tricked her into giving me up.’
My mum let out a shuddering sigh, and something in that sound, something in that pain, made my stomach twist.
‘Emma,’ she said. ‘That’s absolutely not true.’
‘Then why did she say that?’ I asked.
Dad exhaled through his nose, slowly and controlled, as if trying to keep himself in check.
‘Because she knew it would hurt you.’
I shook my head.
‘You don’t know that.’
‘Emma, we know,’ my mum’s voice broke, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. ‘We knew this day could come. We just didn’t think it would be like this.’
She reached for my hand, but I yanked it away. She flinched as if I’d slapped her.
‘I just…’ I swallowed the lump in my throat. ‘She wants to get to know me better. And I think I want to get to know her, too.’
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. Suffocating.
‘What exactly are you trying to say, Emma?’ – My father asked.
‘I told her I’m staying with her for a week.’
My mother made a sound, small, almost inaudible. Like a sharp inhale before a sob.
My father sat up straighter, his jaw clenched.
‘A week,’ he repeated.
I nodded.
‘Please.’
‘Emma, please, my girl,’ Mum said. ‘Just listen to us. Don’t go away.’
‘I’ve listened to you all my life. Please let me figure this out for myself.’
Dad exhaled, his voice quiet but firm. ‘Go on, Emma. It’s just…she left you once. Just think about that before you walk out the door.’
‘I’ll call you,’ I whispered.
Mum let out a suppressed sob.
‘Yes, you will,’ my dad said.
And I went with her.
Sarah’s house wasn’t just a house. It was a mansion. A freaking mansion. Who would have thought?
Marble floors. Chandeliers that looked like they belonged in castles. A grand staircase curving up to the first floor like something out of a film.
‘This can be yours,’ she told me, her voice thick with emotion. ‘We can live the life we were meant to live.’
A sharp prick of guilt pierced me.
Had my parents stolen that from me? Had they really stolen it from me?
I decided to stay for a week, just like I told my parents. Just to see.
But the truth didn’t last long.
The next day, a woman stopped me outside the mansion.
‘You must be Emma,’ she said, watching me carefully.
‘Er… yeah. Who are you?’ I hesitated.
‘I’m Evelyn,’ she exhaled. ‘I live next door.’
A pause.
‘She didn’t tell you, did she? Sarah?’
A chill ran down my spine.
‘Tell me what?’
Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line.
‘That she never fought for you. That no one forced her to give you up. She did it because she wanted to.’
My stomach twisted, and a now-familiar feeling of dread and anxiety overwhelmed me.
‘It’s not true. It can’t be,’ I said quickly.
Evelyn didn’t blink an eye.
‘I knew your grandfather well. I knew her well. I was there all the time…’
I swallowed hard.
‘She told me…not that.’
‘What, sweetheart? Did she tell you she was young and scared?’ intervened Evelyn. ‘That she regretted it? That she cried for you every day? That there was a hole left in her heart after you left?’
I nodded.
Evelyn’s face hardened.
‘Emma, she was having fun. She partied hard. She spent every penny she had. And when she got pregnant, she started seeing you as an inconvenience. Suddenly her life was…too different.’
I felt something inside me crack.
‘She never once sought you out,’ Evelyn continued. ‘Not once. Until now.’
The mansion. The despair. Time.
‘Why now?’ I whispered. ‘Why would she look for me now?’
Evelyn sighed.
‘Because your grandfather died last month,’ she looked me in the eye. ‘And he left everything to you. You’re eighteen now, honey. Everything is officially yours now.’
Nausea swept over me.
No. No. No… no, it wasn’t….
‘She’s back because you’re her ticket, Emma!’
Evelyn’s voice softened.
‘Because, sweetheart, if she convinces you to stay here, she’ll tell you everything. And you’ll be her ticket to the good life. She wants you to be her ticket…’
The world blurred. The mansion. Tears. Trembling hands.
It wasn’t about love. It was never about love.
It was about money.
And I was nothing more than a golden ticket.
I stood at the front stairs, slinging my bag over my shoulder. Sarah leaned on the banister, crossing her arms and staring intently into my eyes.
‘You’re really leaving,’ she said sharply.
‘Yes.’
‘You’re making a mistake, Emma,’ she scoffed.
‘No,’ I said. ‘The mistake is that you believed you wanted me, not my inheritance.’
‘I gave birth to you,’ she said.
‘And then you let me go.’
‘So you’re going to take the money and leave?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m going to pay my own tuition next year when I go to college. And I’m going to spoil my parents like they’ve spoiled me all my life.’
For once, she didn’t find anything to answer.
I turned towards the door.
‘You owe me, Emma,’ she snarled.
I stopped, taking hold of the handle.
‘I don’t owe you anything,’ I said.
When I got home, my parents were waiting for me.
I didn’t say anything. I just threw myself into my mum’s arms.
She hugged me tightly, stroking my hair.
‘You’re home,’ she whispered.
And she was right. I was home.
Because, after all, I didn’t need a mansion, or a fortune, or a mother who only needed me when it was convenient.
‘Welcome back, little girl,’ my father said.
I already had everything I needed.
A real family.
