While helping her estranged mother pack, Lucy comes across a mysterious note tucked in a list: “Do not show Lucy.” Intrigued, she uncovers a dusty VHS tape hidden in a safe. What could her parents be hiding from her—and why did they never want her to find out?
I can still recall that day clearly—the tension in the car so thick it felt suffocating.
Dad drove, gripping the wheel tightly, while I glared out the window, seething.
The steady hum of the tires on the road didn’t calm me—it only heightened the silence between our unresolved arguments.
“Why do I have to do this on my day off?” I snapped, arms crossed. “Couldn’t you have taken a cab or asked a friend?”
Dad shot me a sharp look.
“How can you say that? Your mother needs help! Is it really too much to ask for you to help her pack?” he demanded.
I let out an exasperated sigh, frustration bubbling up again.
“Dad, you know what my relationship with her is like…”
“I know!” he interrupted, raising his voice. “You haven’t spoken in years. You’re both stubborn.”
“Stubborn?” My voice quivered with anger. “She ruined my life, Dad!”
“Don’t exaggerate. She only wanted you to have a good education,” he retorted.
“I followed her plans—studied, did everything! But it was never enough,” I shot back.
“She did it because she loves you,” he said, his voice softening.
I looked away, staring at the passing scenery.
“It’s funny, Dad. My life started getting better the moment I stopped talking to her.”
Dad sighed deeply. “Lucy…”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s just get it over with.”
Once we arrived at my parents’ house, I stormed out of the car, my emotions on edge.
Inside, the familiar smell of dust and old wood hit me as I stepped in.
The living room looked just as I remembered—familiar yet distant, like an old photo.
Todd followed closely behind, his footsteps heavier than mine.
“What do we need to take?” I asked, trying to hide my irritation.
Todd pulled out a folded list and squinted at it. I sighed, took it from him, and unfolded it.
“Let me help,” I said.
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said with a sheepish smile, handing it over.
I read aloud, “A lamp, some dishes, books, photo albums, and valuables from the safe.”
It was simple enough. Todd nodded and headed to the kitchen, while I made my way upstairs to the bedroom.
The room felt heavy with memories, the air thick with them. I grabbed a bag and began packing, ticking off the items one by one.
When I reached the end of the list, something caught my eye—at the bottom, written in smaller handwriting, was a note: “Do not show Lucy.”
My heart raced. Why was something so secret hidden from me? What were they keeping from me?
“Lucy! I’m done here. Need any help?” Todd called from downstairs.
“No, I’m almost finished!” I yelled, my voice slightly higher than usual.
My hands trembled as I opened the safe. Inside was the expected jewelry box, but at the back, something else caught my eye—a small, dusty package.
I carefully unwrapped it, revealing a worn VHS tape.
I couldn’t help but wonder—why was this hidden? Ignoring the note’s warning, I slipped the tape into my coat pocket. I had to know what was on it.
“All done?” Todd called again as I reappeared.
“Yes, let’s go. I’m short on time,” I answered, heading for the door, the weight of the tape heavy on my mind.
At the nursing home, my grip on the steering wheel tightened with the looming dread of facing my mother.
“Are you coming in with me?” Todd asked, his voice a mixture of concern and frustration.
I shook my head quickly. “No. You go. I packed everything from the list.”
“But Lucy… she’s your mom,” Todd said softly.
“I don’t want to see her or talk to her,” I snapped, avoiding his gaze.
Todd sighed, disappointed but resigned. “Fine. Just know she loves you.”
I watched him go, guilt creeping in, but I pushed it aside, convinced I was justified.
Back home, I couldn’t shake the unease in my chest. I kept thinking about the tape in my pocket.
I dug through the closet for the old VCR, wiping away the dust before setting it up with the TV. After some trial and error, I connected everything and slid the tape in.
The screen flickered to life, showing grainy footage of my parents—young, smiling, and vibrant. My mom held the camera, her laughter faint through the static.
But then, I saw it—my dad, playing with a little girl who looked just like me—same hair, same smile. But something felt… off.
Then I heard it.
“Chloe! Come here, Chloe! You’re such a clever girl!” My mom’s voice was warm, but unfamiliar.
Chloe? I froze. My parents only had one child—me. And they’d always called me Lucy.
I turned off the TV, heart pounding. What had I just seen? Was there something they’d been hiding all along?
I needed answers. And there was only one person who could give them to me.
I grabbed my keys, steeling myself for what was to come.
At the nursing home, I asked the receptionist to see my mom. She seemed surprised but led me to her room.
When I entered, the room was still, too quiet. My parents were sitting by the window.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
“Lucy!” My mom’s voice cracked as she opened her arms, tears filling her eyes. “I’ve missed you so much.”
I hesitated, waving instead. “Mom, I need to talk to you,” I said seriously.
Todd stood, sensing the tension. “I’ll leave you two alone,” he said gently, stepping out.
I pulled the tape from my bag. “I found this in your safe,” I said, watching her face carefully. “‘Do not show Lucy.’ Care to explain?”
Her face drained of color as she struggled to speak. Finally, she broke down in tears.
“Lucy… I’m so sorry. We never meant for you to find out this way,” she whispered.
“Find out what?” I demanded, my heart racing.
She clasped her hands, her voice barely audible.
“Chloe… Chloe was our first daughter. She was everything to us. But she died in a car accident when she was just a little girl,” she said, choking on the words.
I froze. “What does that mean for me?”
Mom’s voice cracked as she explained, “We adopted you, Lucy. You were a baby when we brought you home. We loved you so much. To us, you were—and always will be—our daughter.”
I sat back, the weight of her words sinking in. My mind spun, but looking at her tear-streaked face, I realized it didn’t matter.
I stood and hugged her tightly. “You’re my mom. That’s all that matters,” I whispered.
For the first time in years, I felt free.
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