2. Mystery Man

McKenna

One week ago...

"MCKENNA! I NEED YOUR HELP DOWN HERE!" my mother Tatiana yelled from downstairs. We had just moved to our new house after being evicted for the third time.

I rushed to the top of the staircase, my heart pounding in my chest. This new house, which was supposed to be a fresh start for us, had already brought its own set of challenges. As I hurried down the creaky wooden steps, I wondered what could possibly be wrong this time. My mother had been through so much, and I knew it was my responsibility to be there for her.

I found her in the kitchen, her face twisted with worry as she motioned at the steadily growing pool of water spreading across the floor. The faucet was leaking furiously, and a steady stream of water was gushing out like a miniature waterfall.

Oh great...

"I tried to turn it off, but it's stuck," my mother said, her voice laced with frustration.

Without hesitation, I grabbed a nearby towel and threw it on the floor to start soaking up the water. I then rushed to the sink, using all my strength to turn the stubborn faucet handle. The water stopped flowing.

"Are you okay, Mom?" I asked.

Mom nodded, her eyes still fixed on the damage. "We can't afford any more problems, McKenna. We barely made it into this house, and I'm not sure how we are going to handle the repairs."

I understood her worry all too well. The constant evictions had taken a toll on us, and this house was supposed to be a fresh start.

I knelt beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure it out, Mom. We always do."

Mom managed a small smile. "You are right, McKenna. We're a team, and we'll get through this, too."

"I can call Uncle Frederick," I suggested.

Mom and Uncle Frederick had been best friends since they were teenagers, and he usually didn't mind repairing things for us for free. I had a feeling it was because he had a crush on Mom.

Mom shook her head. "I don't know, Kenna. I feel bad always asking him for help."

"Oh, come on. It's the least he can do for all the time you made him spaghetti for free," I joked.

Mom laughed at that. "Alright. Only because I am desperate," she said and looked around. "Hmm...it looks like I left my phone upstairs. Mind going up and calling him for me? I will finish cleaning up this mess."

"Gladly!" I chirped and ran upstairs to find her phone.

I was met with a cloud of dust as I walked into Mom's bedroom. She didn't have much time to unpack, so most of her boxes were still scattered all over the room. I quickly scanned the area, searching for her phone.

Next stop is the walk-in closet.

The walk-in closet looked like the tornado had run through it as she had recklessly thrown some clothes in there. 

But, there was also an array of colorful fabrics and vintage clothing that was carefully hung and placed on racks. My mother had collected them over the years as many of her dreams were to be a fashion designer one day. She would always pick up fabrics from thrift stores and vintage shops, imagining the perfect designs she could create with them.

My mom is so brave and creative!

"There you are," I muttered as I spotted Mom's phone resting on the top shelf. But as I reached for it, my hand grazed a box, and it fell to the ground. Startled, I jumped back and bent down to pick it up.

The box was old, and it had some pictures that were now scattered all over. I quickly gathered them all and glanced at them closer, my curiosity piqued. In one of the pictures, my mother was standing next to a man I had never seen in my life.

He was tall, with strong hands and kind eyes.

Who is this man, and why does he look so familiar?

"MCKENNA! DID YOU FIND MY PHONE?"

I nearly dropped the box again as I heard Mom yelling from downstairs.

 "Yes, Mom, I found it! I am calling now," I shouted back.

Mom had always been reluctant to talk about her past, especially when it came to the period before I was born. Maybe this was a glimpse into her history that I was never supposed to see.

With the phone in hand, I dialed Uncle Frederick's number. He answered after a couple of rings, and I explained the situation with the leaking faucet and how desperately we needed his help.

But after I finished talking, I went back to the box. My mom was too busy downstairs to check on me, so here was my chance to snoop around some more.

 I picked up another photo, my curiosity getting the better of me. I couldn't resist the temptation to learn more about this mysterious man standing beside my mother in the photographs.

Carefully, I examined it closely. There they were again, my mother and this mysterious man, with smiles that radiated happiness. It was clear that they were close, and might even be in love.

I continued to sift through the pictures, discovering more snapshots of them together. In some, they were dancing; in others, they were sharing intimate moments. Each photo seemed to tell a story, a story I had never heard.

Feeling like a detective, I noticed a date on the back of one photograph. It read "August 2002." I carefully noted the date and continued to inspect the pictures, piecing together the timeline of their relationship.

Not too far from the year I was born.

I couldn't believe it. Was this man my father? The man my mother had always kept a secret from me? The man who had abandoned her, leaving her to raise me all on her own? Anger and confusion boiled inside of me. How could she keep this from me? Why did she lie to me for so many years?

I didn't know what to do with my emotions, so I kept searching through the box. And then I found it. A class ring that belonged to the man.

Hunter Brooks.

The same name my mother had whispered in her sleep numerous times. It was the name she never mentioned, the name she never talked about. But now, as I held that ring in my hand, I couldn't help but wonder who this Hunter Brooks was, and what his story was with my mother.

I quickly searched for my laptop and sat down on the bed, determined to find out more about this man. I started by typing his name into G****e, but nothing came up. It was like he never existed. Frustrated, I looked at the ring again, trying to get some clues. That's when I noticed a date engraved on the inside of the band.

May 2002.

My mind raced as I did the math. May 2002 was three months before the date on the back of the photograph- August 2002. It was all starting to come together, the pieces of the puzzle falling into place. My mother and Hunter Brooks had been in a relationship nine months before I was born.

But then, as I kept staring at the ring, I noticed something else- a small inscription on the back that read "I'll love you forever, H.B."

My heart sank. It was evident that Hunter Brooks had genuine feelings for my mother. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened between them and why they never got married or stayed together.

As I continued my online search for Hunter Brooks, I felt a mix of emotions. Anger and confusion still swirled within me, but I also couldn't help but feel a sense of empathy for my mother. She had carried the burden of this past relationship, likely for my sake, and had kept it hidden all these years.

With each search result and information I could find about Hunter Brooks, it became clear that he was a successful man. And not only because his family was wealthy, he was successful in his own right.

"He was a prodigy in biochemistry," I whispered as I read an article about him.

So this was my father. 

My first instinct was to run downstairs and ask my mother about Hunter. I wanted to demand answers. She owes me that much, right?

But I decided to hold myself back. There must've been a reason for my mother to hide this from me. And I was determined to find out why.