The Truth About My Birth

Anna’s POV

“Who are my biological parents?”

The question sounded strange coming from my own mouth, almost like I was asking about someone else, and the doctor remained silent for a moment before closing the file in front of him.

“We can’t determine that from this test alone.”

“Then what can you determine?” He looked at me carefully.

“That your results don’t fit neatly with the family history you’ve provided.”

I wasn’t ready for the same answer. “You keep saying that, but nobody is telling me what it means.”

“We need more information before we can say anything with certainty.”

He could tell I was getting irritated. “How much more information?”

“Your father’s medical records would help, especially anything relating to your birth.”

“My father?”

“Yes.”

The moment he said that, something inside me went still. Brian. My father had always been the one person I never questioned.

Whatever happened between me and Mark, whatever happened with Sandra, whatever happened in my marriage, Brian had always been the constant. He was my father.

That was never supposed to be a question. “Can I take the results?” I asked.

The doctor hesitated. “We can provide you with a copy.”

“I want one.” He nodded.

“Of course.”

I looked down at the closed file.

There was something inside it that had just turned my entire childhood into a question, and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to open it again or throw it away but I knew one thing. I couldn’t ignore it. Not anymore.

I left the hospital two days later. The first thing I took note of was how ordinary the world looked outside. People walked past me with shopping bags, and cars moved along the road. Someone was laughing on the other side of the street.

Nobody knew that I had just walked out of a hospital carrying a piece of paper that had made me question my entire identity.

I walked faster along the street. My phone buzzed. It was Sandra.

“Are you discharged?”

I stared at the message then I typed “yes.”

Her reply came quickly. “How are you feeling?” I hesitated.

I simply typed “I’m okay.” Three dots appeared then a message came. “Good. Rest. We’ll talk when you feel stronger.”

I frowned at the screen. There was only one person I needed to talk to first. Brian. His house looked exactly the way I remembered it. Same gate, same garden, same curtain hanging behind the windows.

For a moment, I sat in the car without moving. I had been there countless times.

As a child, I had run through that garden,and as a teenager, I had slammed the front door after an argument and sworn I would never come back.

As an adult, I had returned whenever life became too difficult but I had never arrived here carrying a question like this.

I finally stepped out of the car. The front door opened before I reached it. Brian stood there.

His face changed the moment he saw me. “Anna?”

“Hi,Dad.” He stared at me for a second. “You should be resting.”

“I am.”

“You just had surgery.”

“ I know.” He stepped outside.

“Come in.”

I walked inside. The familiar smell of the house hit me immediately, and for one brief second, I almost forgot why I had come.

Then, I remembered the file inside my handbag. I sat on the sofa while Brian remained standing.

“You look tired.”

“I am.”

“The doctor said everything went well?”

“Yes.”

He smiled faintly. I looked at him.

“Dad?”

“Hmm?”

“When was I born?” His expression changed. It was small; so small that someone who didn’t know him might have missed it but I didn’t.

“Why are you asking?”

“Just answer me.” He sat down slowly.

“Anna, what is this about?”

“I went to the hospital.”

“I know.”

“No, Dad. I mean after the surgery.” He remained quiet.

“The doctors ran some tests.” His eyes moved towards my handbag.

“What kind of tests?”

“Genetic tests.”

I watched his face as he looked away. My heart started to pound.

“Why did you look away?”

“I didn’t.”

“You did.” He sighed.

“Anna, you’re still recovering. You shouldn’t be worrying about things that–“

“Things that what?” He stopped. I reached into my handbag and brought out the envelope. I placed it on the table between us.

“The doctor said my genetic information doesn’t match the family history I gave them.” He finally looked my way.

“What?”

“My results don’t fit with what they expected.” He stared at me. I could see something moving behind his eyes. Fear or guilt, I couldn’t tell.

“Dad,” I whispered, “what happened when I was born?”

He stood up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!”

“Anna–“

“Who was my mother?” I stood.

“You told me she died.”

“She did.”

“Then why don’t I have anything about her?”

“You were young.”

I was a child, Dad. I’m not a child anymore.”

He looked away and I stepped closer. “Why don’t I have photographs?”

“Anna…”

“Why don’t I have her medical records?!” He rubbed his forehead.

“Some things are better left in the past.” My body became warm.

“This isn’t an answer.”

“Well, that is the only answer I can give you.”

“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to do that.”

His eyes met mine. “Do what?”

“Decide what parts of my life I’m allowed to know.”

He didn’t respond. I reached into my handbag and pulled out the hospital report. I placed it in front of him.

“The doctor said I need my birth records.” Brian stared at the paper then he sat down. For the first time since I had entered the house, he acted old.

“Where did you get that?”

“The hospital.” His finger trembled slightly as he picked it up. I watched him read. His face became pale.

“Dad?”

“You need to forget this.”

“Forget what?”

“This.” He tapped the report.

“You don’t understand why you’re asking.”

“Then explain to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” He looked at me and this time, there was no anger in his expression. There was simply fear.

“I promised someone.” My breath caught. “Who?”

He ignored me. “Who did you promise?”

He looked down at the report again. “I promised that I would never speak about what happened that night.”

I stared at him. “What night?”

“The night you were born.” I couldn’t move.

“What happened that night?” He closed his eyes. For a moment, I thought he was finally going to tell me everything. Then he shook his head.

“You’re not ready.” A bitter laugh escaped. “I’m not ready?”

“You’ve just come out of surgery.”

“That has nothing to do with this.”

“You need to recover.”

“I’ve spent my entire life recovering from things nobody would explain to me.” He flinched.

I immediately regretted the words, but I didn’t take them back. I was tired of being protected from my own life.

“Dad,” I said quietly, “if there is something you know, I need you to tell me.”

“I can’t.”

“Then I’ll find out myself.”

His expression changed.

“Anna, don’t.”

I picked up my handbag.

“You should have thought about that before keeping the truth from me.”

I walked towards the door.

“Anna.” I stopped. His voice sounded different.

“Some truths don’t set people free.” I turned around.

“What do they do?” He stared at me.

“They destroy everything people thought they knew.”

I held his gaze. “Then maybe everything I thought I knew was never true.”

I opened the door. “Anna.” I didn’t turn around this time.

I walked outside; the door closed behind me. I stood on the porch, breathing heavily. My hands were shaking. I had come looking for an explanation.

Instead, I had left with more questions than I arrived with.

Who had Brian promised? What happened the night I was born? And why did my father look terrified of a truth that supposedly had nothing to do with me?

I walked towards my car.My phone rang.I looked at the screen. It was Sandra.

I answered.

“Hello?” There was silence on the other end.

“Sandra?” Her voice finally came.

“Anna…” Something about her tone made me stop walking.

“What?”

“I think you should come see me.”

“Why?”Another silence. Then she whispered.

“Because there are things about the day you were born that I never told you.”