Chapter Eight: The Truth

The drive to my grandfather's house is shorter than I expected. As the car pulls up the long gravel drive way. I stare at the huge mansion. A gorgeous house that looks like it belongs to a forgotten time period. The first time I saw it I was blown away. I was used to new money houses and McMansions. But this was a house that had stood for decades after the ones that built it were decomposing skeletons in their graves.

I can’t believe this was what I was missing. When my grandfather first reached out I thought it was a scam email. A rich grandfather that wanted to meet me? Yeah, right. But then he sent documents showing proof that we were biologically related. Along with pictures of a woman that looked like me. My birth mother. I could not believe it. She looked so similar to me. I had to meet him. 

We met at a local coffee shop near my high school. He told me how his daughter got into a bad crowd during her college years, and ended up getting into drugs. Then they ended up getting into a big fight, and he told her to leave his home and never come back. From then on he thought he would never see her again. But then she turned up to his house, pregnant. He told me that he tried to get her to stay, but she refused and left without a second glance back at him. 

I think back to the look on his face while recounting the story about my mother. A look of immense guilt and sorrow. And under that was a glint of hard steel. The look of a man who was determined to get back what he lost. He gave me his number and told me to reach out to him if there was anything I needed. I left the coffee shop unsure of how I felt about him. Why had he never reached out to me before? But as the days dragged on I could not help but want a connection with him. Nor could I blame him.

It is hard to help someone that does not want to be helped. 

As far as seeking me out. I can’t imagine how hard tracking down a kid in the American foster system could be. And once I am eighteen I can come and live with him and my parents can’t do anything about it. I was supposed to live with Brandon once I turn eighteen … but that is clearly off the table now. 

But I do not want to think about that right now. 

Above all my grandfather wanted me. And it felt good to have that familial connection with someone. I have never felt as safe and cared for than when we would talk to each other. Something I never felt with my family at home. But it was something I desperately wanted. 

The driver opens my door and I step out on the gravel driveway. I walk up towards the arched entrance to knock on the wooden door. But before my knuckles make contact the door swings open. My grandfather greets me with a warm smile. “Come here my sweet girl” he says with his arms opened wide. I accept his embrace. I feel safe and loved with his strong but slightly bony arms wrapped around me. A type of love I never felt before radiates from the warmth of his hug. And it takes all my power to not fall apart in his arms on the steps of his beautiful ancient house.