“Ma’am, you said your neighbor told you he was going on a business trip, correct?”
I nodded. “He asked me to look after his cat. He said he’d be back in a few days.”
My gut was telling me something was wrong.
“There’s no sign of foul play here, but the utilities are shut off, and the kitchen cupboards have been cleared out. No food in the fridge either.”
“What does that mean?”
“I’m not sure, ma’am. Everything else looks normal.”
They listed him as a missing person, but without evidence of a crime, there wasn’t much they could do.
Life started to move on. People stopped asking about “the quiet man.” But I couldn’t let it go.
They listed him as a missing person.
A few days later, Jasper came inside smelling like a swamp. I didn’t have a choice; he needed a bath.
“Stay still,” I muttered as he squirmed in the sink. “You’re being dramatic.”
As I unclipped his nylon collar to keep it dry, a flash of light caught my eye. There was a weird seam in the fabric, a slight bulge that didn’t belong there.
I looked closer. Someone had carefully stitched a small pocket into the lining.
I grabbed my sewing scissors and snipped the threads.
Jasper came inside smelling like a swamp.
A small silver key slid out and landed in my palm. Underneath it was a tiny, folded piece of paper.
I unfolded it.
Dear Anna, if you’re reading this, it’s time for the truth to come out. I’m tired of hiding. This key opens an apartment at the address below. You will understand everything.
I stared at the address. It was about 20 minutes away.
“You get out of bathing for now,” I told Jasper as I opened the bathroom door. “I’m finally going to find out what happened to your master.”
It’s time for the truth to come out.
Soon, I was standing in front of apartment 4B.
I slid the key into the lock. It turned with a smooth click.
I pushed the door open and moved inside. A few paces in, I stopped dead. Then turned a slow circle as I took in my surroundings. That was no normal apartment!
A scream tore from my throat before I could stop it. I stumbled back against the doorframe and fumbled for my phone to dial 911.
That was no normal apartment!
“911, what is your emergency?” a voice asked in my ear.
I stared at the pictures covering the apartment walls.
There I was, reaching into my mailbox. There I was, laughing at the Fourth of July parade. There was a shot of me gardening, the same day I had seen him with his groceries. I thought I was going to be sick.
“There… there are pictures of me. Everywhere. I think… no, I know my neighbor has been watching me!”
The police arrived in minutes.
I thought I was going to be sick.
Two officers entered the apartment while I waited in the hallway, shaking. Neighbors started poking their heads out of their doors.
A woman in a bathrobe stepped into the hall. “Is Daniel okay?”
“If you’re looking for Daniel, he hasn’t lived here for three years,” a man added from the doorway next to her. “He still comes by to check the mail sometimes, but that’s it.”
“You know him?” I asked, my voice cracking.
Two officers entered the apartment
“Sure,” the man said. “He’s a nice guy. Very quiet. Kept to himself.”
Wasn’t that what they always said?
Inside the apartment, I heard one officer call out, “Hey, you should see this.”
I walked back inside. On the dining table sat a thick yellow envelope.
In that same neat handwriting, it said: For Anna.
The officer looked at me. “Is this you?”
“I think so.” I showed the officer my ID.
“Hey, you should see this.”
He checked my ID to confirm my identity, then opened the envelope and pulled out a stack of papers. He scanned them, his expression changing from suspicion to something like pity. He looked at me, then back at the papers.
“Ma’am… is this your birth name?”
He showed me a document. It was a certified copy of a birth record from 30 years ago. My name was there, but the last name was the name I had before my adoption.
It was a certified copy of a birth record from 30 years ago.
Listed right below mine was another name: Daniel. Same last name as mine.
“White” wasn’t his real name!
The documents listed him as my sibling.
“That can’t be right. My parents… they never told me I had a brother.”
The officer handed me a letter that had been tucked inside the records.
“White” wasn’t his real name!
Anna, it began. I never stopped looking for you. I was ten when they separated us. You were just a baby. They told me you were too young to remember me, and I prayed that was true. I didn’t want you to remember the day they took you away. I didn’t want you to feel the hole in your life that I felt in mine.
I sat on a wooden chair.
But when I finally found you, I was so scared you’d reject me. I stood on the curb so many times, trying to get the guts to tell you the truth, but I couldn’t.