I sat on the couch, restless, my fingers tapping nervously against the armrest.
The living room felt unusually quiet, suffocating even, as I waited, impatiently—for Mom and Dad to return. Every passing second only deepened the gnawing ache in my chest.
Tonight was supposed to give us answers. The final verdict.
Was Dan truly my brother… or had we been chasing a ghost this whole time?
Everything inside me whispered—no, screamed—that he was their biological child. Every little piece of evidence we had gathered until now had painted the same picture. But still, doubt lingered.
I glanced at the clock. It was far too late.
What on earth could be keeping them?
I stood up, legs slightly trembling, and wandered toward the kitchen.
Mrs. May was there, humming softly as she stirred something in the pot. The aroma of food did nothing to ease my nausea.
"Mrs. May?" I called softly.
She turned her head slightly but didn't stop cooking. "Yes, Helen?"
"Do you… do you know what might be holding them up? It's getting so late..." My voice trembled, and I hated that it did.
She shook her head slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line.
"They should be on their way. Court sessions can run late, especially one like this."
Then, she turned her attention back to the pot as though the food could distract her from the heavy truth sitting between us.
But I couldn't keep still. The silence from the front door felt like it was closing in on me. I shifted again, unsure of where to place my energy.
"Mrs. May," I said again, this time my voice softer.
She hummed in response, her hands still busy.
"Do you remember… when my parents' biological child went missing?"
She froze.
Her back stiffened, her hand hovering over the pot. Slowly, she turned around to face me, her expression shadowed by memories too painful to name.
"I remember it like it was yesterday, Helen," she said, her voice cracking.
"And I would give anything—anything—to turn back the hands of time."
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "Do you think Dan could be that child?"
Mrs. May exhaled, her eyes growing glassy. "Honestly, I don't know anymore. But I hope… I pray… that today gave us the truth."
Just then, the front door creaked open. Both of us froze, eyes locking.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then hurried footsteps.
I didn't wait. I rushed into the living room, my breath caught in my chest.
But the people standing before me… those weren't the same hopeful, determined parents I had seen in the courtroom hours ago.
These were shadows of them—drained, pale, and haunted.
"Dad?" I asked, stepping forward, my voice trembling. "What happened?"
Mom didn't answer. She sank onto the couch like a puppet with cut strings. Dad followed, his shoulders slumped under an invisible weight.
I turned to Mom. "Please. Say something. Anything." The silence was unbearable.
Then Dad spoke. Quietly.
Flatly.
Like he couldn't bear to say the words out loud.
"Helen… everything was a lie."
The words pierced me like a cold blade.
"What… what do you mean?" I whispered.
A single tear slipped down Mom's cheek. She didn't speak. She didn't look at me.
"Dan isn't ours,"
Dad said again, this time firmer.
I stumbled backward, the weight of those words hitting me like a tidal wave.
"What do you mean? What about the footage?
What about—" I stopped as Mom's frustration finally exploded.
"Helen!" she snapped, voice raw.
"Dan isn't our son. His blood didn't match ours. We've done the tests. We've done everything!"
I felt dizzy. The living room spun around me. My knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the couch beside them.
"But I heard Dan had taken a DNA test before today," I asked confused
Dad begins slowly, "Helen, it didn't match ours too, so we taught it was messed up with, that's why we decided the Judge takes another one in the court,"
I open my mouth in disbelief,
Weeks. We had spent weeks chasing this. I had barely slept, barely eaten, consumed with the hope that this would end in healing—for all of us. For once, I had dared to believe.
And now it was all for nothing.
"So… what was the point of it all?" I asked, my voice hollow.
Mom breaks down hard this time. Her tears, once quiet and restrained, spilled freely now, loud and unrelenting.
Dad wrapped his arms around her, trying to hold her together as she fell apart in his arms.
I watched them, my chest tightening with sorrow. They didn't deserve this. No one did.
My eyes drifted to the kitchen. Mrs. May stood frozen, a ladle in her hand, the pot forgotten.
She had cooked for us in hope—hope that this evening would bring closure, maybe even joy. But the silence now filling the house was louder than any celebration.
No one was going to eat tonight.
"Let's go upstairs, love," Dad murmured to Mom, helping her up.
I watched them ascend the stairs, leaning on each other like survivors of a war. I wanted to follow, to hold onto someone, anyone—but I didn't move. I couldn't.
My phone buzzed in my hand. I hadn't even realized I was gripping it so tightly. It was my only anchor.
I unlocked it slowly.
A message from Selena:
"Did today's court go in your favor?"
I stared at the words. How could I even begin to reply? How do you explain that everything ,we found out couldn't help with the case?,
Everything had just crumbled before my eyes.
Another message came through. This time from Dom:
"I heard the news. I can't imagine how you feel, or how hard this must be for your parents. I'm here if you need someone to pour all those thoughts on."
I read it again. And again. His words were kind, thoughtful. But they didn't fix the ache. Nothing could. Not right now.
The tears finally spilled, unstoppable. I curled into myself on the couch, my knees drawn up, my face buried in my arms.
Then I felt a warm arm wrap around me.
I looked up, and there she was—
Mrs. May,
Her eyes were brimming with tears, too. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
We sat there in silence. The kind of silence that wraps around you—not comforting, but heavy, pressing down like a weighted blanket soaked in sorrow. Two hearts grieving something neither of us could fully name.
I could feel the ache in my chest growing tighter, each breath more difficult than the last. I turned slowly to face Mrs. May, my eyes already wet, the tears tracing paths down my cheeks like rain streaking a dusty window.
"Where do we go from here?" My voice cracked as I spoke, brittle and uncertain.
"Where do I go from here?" I repeated, softer now, stuttering through the pain like a child lost in a storm.
Mrs. May said nothing. She didn't need to. Instead, she pulled me into her arms more tightly, cradling me like I was the one who had been lost and was finally found.
Her embrace was warm, steady, but it couldn't ease the ache sitting like a stone inside me.
I looked up at the ceiling, then around the large, echoing house.
"Will they keep traveling again?" I asked,
my eyes scanning the walls that had once felt so familiar but now felt like strangers. "Will I be left alone?"
Still, no answer. I didn't expect one, not really. I think I just needed to hear myself speak, to give voice to all the fears clawing at me from the inside.
I took in a deep breath, shaky and uneven, and let it out in a long sigh.
"Will I be enough this time for them? Can't they just stop all this?" My voice rose, loud and raw. "It's bringing more hurt to this family than good!"
"Don't say that, Helen," Mrs. May responded, her voice barely above a whisper, gentle like the wind before a storm.
"You know this isn't easy on your parents either. They have a right to know where their son is. They've lived with that question for so long."
I shook my head. I didn't want her reason. I didn't want her calm voice or her gentle explanations. Not now.
"But at what cost?" I snapped, bitterness dripping from my words.
She stayed quiet.
"At what cost, Mrs. May?" I asked again, my voice trembling with anger now, not sorrow.
"At the end of the day, I get affected the most! Do you even understand how hard it was—how terrifying it was—to find out I was pregnant by someone I loved… and then be told he could be my brother?"
I shouted, each word cutting into the room like glass.
I covered my face with my hands, trembling. "Do any of you even know what that feels like?" I whispered through clenched teeth.
"Do y'all even think about that part of it?"
I was unraveling now. My thoughts tumbling out like an avalanche I could no longer stop.
I was hurting. Deeply. Fully. I was cracked open.
"I can't do this anymore," I said, barely audible. "I need it all to stop. All of it."
Mrs. May stayed beside me, holding on even tighter. Her silence wasn't indifference—it was understanding.
She knew there were no words to soothe the kind of hurt I carried. So we stayed there. She, a quiet comfort, and I, a storm of emotions finally let loose.
And yet, in Mrs. May's arms, in her quiet presence, I still feel utterly alone