While helping her distant mother pack, Lucy discovers a mysterious note on a list: “Do not show Lucy.” Intrigued, she digs deeper and finds a hidden, dusty videotape in a safe. What secrets have her parents been keeping from her—and why were they so determined to keep her in the dark?
I remember that day clearly—the heavy tension inside the car was almost suffocating.
Dad was behind the wheel, his knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel tightly. I stared out the window, anger bubbling inside me.
The steady hum of the tires on the road didn’t soothe me; it only deepened the silence between our tense exchanges.
“Why do I have to do this on my day off?” I snapped, folding my arms. “Why couldn’t you take a taxi or ask someone else?”
Dad shot me a sharp look, his tone curt.
“Lucy! How can you say that? Your mother needs help! Is it really too much to ask you to help pack her things?”
I sighed, frustration welling up.
“Dad, you know how things are between us…”
“I do!” he interrupted, his voice rising. “You haven’t spoken to her in over ten years. You both are stubborn.”
“Stubborn?” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “She ruined my life, Dad!”
“Don’t be dramatic. She just wanted you to have a proper education,” he replied firmly.
“All I ever did was follow her plans and study hard! I wanted her approval, but it was never enough…”
“She did it because she loves you,” his voice softened.
I turned away, gazing at the passing houses.
“Funny how my life started getting better when I stopped talking to her.”
Dad sighed. “Lucy…”
“That’s enough,” I cut him off. “I don’t want to discuss this anymore. Let’s just finish.”
When we arrived at my parents’ house, I couldn’t hold back the storm inside.
I slammed the door and marched inside, emotions spilling out with every step.
The familiar scent of dust and old wood greeted me.
The living room looked the same but felt distant, like a faded memory. Todd followed behind, his footsteps heavier.
“What do we need to take exactly?” I asked, trying to hide my irritation.
Todd pulled out a folded paper, squinting at the small print.
Seeing him struggle, I gently took the paper.
“Let me help.”
“Thanks, sweetheart,” he smiled sheepishly.
I unfolded the list and read aloud: “A lamp, dishes, books, photo albums, and valuables from the safe.”
Simple enough. Todd nodded and went to the kitchen while I headed upstairs.
The bedroom felt thick with memories. I grabbed a bag and began packing, checking items off.
A book here, a photo album there—routine and almost automatic. But at the bottom of the list, a small handwritten note stopped me:
“Do not show Lucy.”
My heart raced. What could be so secret that it was hidden from me? My curiosity flared.
“Lucy! I’m done here. Need help?” Todd called from downstairs.
“No, Dad, almost done!” I yelled back, my voice unusually high.
My hands shook as I punched the code from the list. The safe clicked open.
Inside was the expected jewelry box—and tucked behind it, a small dusty package.
Carefully, I unwrapped it. Inside was an old videotape, worn and faded.
Questions flooded me. Why was this hidden? Why the secrecy?
Ignoring the note, I slipped the tape into my coat pocket. I had to know.
“All done?” Todd asked as I reappeared.
“Yes, let’s go. I’m short on time,” I replied, the tape heavy in my thoughts.
At the nursing home, my grip on the steering wheel tightened till my knuckles whitened.
The building was cold and unwelcoming.
The weight of years of resentment pressed down. Facing my mother churned my stomach.
Todd looked at me, concern and frustration mixed in his expression. “Are you coming in?”
I shook my head, avoiding his eyes. “No. You go. I packed everything.”
“But Lucy… she’s your mom,” Todd said softly.
“Please, no more,” I snapped. “I don’t want to see or talk to her. Period.”
Todd sighed, disappointed, but gave up.
“Alright. Just know she loves you,” he said, carrying the bags inside.
I watched him go, guilt twisting in my chest. But I pushed it down, convincing myself I was right.
Once Todd was inside, I left, the car silent.
At home, unease gnawed at me. My mind kept circling back to the tape in my coat.
I searched the closet, pushing aside old boxes to find the dusty VCR.
Wiping it clean, I set it up with the old TV, squinting at an online guide to connect the outdated device.
“Let’s hope this still works,” I muttered, inserting the tape and pressing play.
Grainy footage flickered on screen, horizontal lines distorting the image, but I could see the figures.
It was my parents—young, smiling, vibrant in a way I hadn’t seen in years. Mom held the camera, her laughter faint through the static.
Dad crouched down, arms outstretched, playing with a little girl.
I leaned in, squinting. The girl looked like me—same dark hair, same bright smile. But something felt off.
Then I heard it.
“Chloe! Come here, Chloe! You’re such a clever girl!” Mom’s warm voice called.
I froze, heart pounding. Chloe? Who was Chloe? My parents only had one child—me, Lucy.
The video played on, but I couldn’t focus. My mind raced, piecing together what I’d seen.
Was there a secret about my family? Something they’d hidden from me all these years?
I turned off the TV, hands shaking. I needed answers. And there was only one person who could give them.
I grabbed my keys, steeling myself. It was time to see Mom.
Determined, I gripped the wheel tightly, my mind swirling.
The drive to the nursing home was a blur of streetlights and memories.
My hands trembled as I parked and entered, the lobby’s chill amplifying my nerves.
At the reception, a woman smiled kindly. “Hello, can I help you?”
I cleared my throat, steadying my voice. “My mother is here. I need to see her.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before. What’s her name?”
“Emma,” I answered.
Her eyes widened. “Are you… Lucy?”
The surprise made me pause. “Yes. How do you know?”
Her smile softened. “Your mom talks about you a lot. She’s been asking for you. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“We have… a complicated relationship,” I admitted, guilt rising.
“She’ll be thrilled to see you,” the attendant said warmly and led me down the hall.
The room was still, almost too quiet. Emma and Todd sat by the window, chatting softly.
They turned, shocked.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
“Lucy! Oh, my love, I’ve missed you so much!” Mom cried, tears streaming. She reached for a hug.
I hesitated, waving instead to keep my distance.
“Mom, I need to talk,” I said firmly.
Todd understood and quietly left, closing the door behind him.
I pulled out the tape. “I found this in your safe,” I said, watching her carefully. “‘Do not show Lucy.’ Care to explain?”
Her eyes widened. She paled, lips trembling. Finally, tears fell.
“Lucy… I’m so sorry. We never wanted you to find out this way.”
“Find out what?” I pressed, heart pounding.
She clasped her hands, voice breaking.
“Chloe… Chloe was our first daughter. She meant everything to us. But she died in a car accident as a child.”
I froze, stunned. “I don’t understand. Then who am I?”
Tears streamed as she continued.
“We adopted you, Lucy. You were a baby when we brought you home. We loved you and promised never to tell. To us, you are and always will be our daughter.”
I sat back, letting her words sink in. My mind raced, but looking at her tear-streaked face, all I felt was relief.
The truth didn’t change us.
I stood and hugged her tightly—for the first time in years.
“You’re my mom. That’s all that matters,” I whispered. And for the first time, I felt free.
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