It wasn’t something I could quite place, but it was always there – like an invisible shadow. My father told me from a young age that I was adopted, but something about his tone always dreamed. It was as if the story was more than he left.
Over time, I was convinced that when I left my native parents, it was my truth that I was just a burden in the world. A simple visit to the orphanage, however, would soon break everything I thought I knew about myself.
What I learned that day would forever change the way I saw my past – and the person I have trust most.
For thirty years I lived under the belief that I was adopted, abandoned by my parents who could not keep me. But the only visit to the orphanage completely broke everything I thought I knew about my past.
I have always been told that I was adopted – my dad shared it with me when I was only three years old. Soon after my adoptive mom died, only six months later. My memories of her are weak and there is only a soft image of her reassuring smile. After she was gone, it was just me and my dad, they faced life together.
But growing was nothing but easy. My dad often reminded me that I am not really his. Whenever I fought, he made notes like, “Maybe you got it from your real parents” or “You should be grateful, I even left you.”
When I was six, it made sense to announce my adoption to a group of neighbors and ensured everyone to know. The next day, the children at school began to call me a “Orphans girl”. The teasing has never stopped and whenever I returned home in tears, my father simply shrugged and said, “Children will be children.” For my birthday, he even took me to an orphanage and told me how I was “happiness” compared to children.
For thirty years I believed I was abandoned – that I was burden. My fiance, Matt, was the first to propose to face my past. “Maybe to learn about your biological parents could give you some closure,” he said gently. I resisted first.
What would it change? But in the end I agreed. A few weeks ago, Matt and I went to the orphanage, which my dad always claimed to have come. When we arrived, the woman at the table checked the records and said, “I’m sorry but we don’t have any record about you.” My heart sank.
Confused and impressed we headed directly to my father’s house. When he opened the door, I exploded, “We went to the orphanage – never heard of me. Why did you lie?”
He stiffened, his face unreadable. He said nothing for a long time. Then he sighed deeply and retreated. “Come on,” he said quietly.
Matt and I followed him in the living room. He sank into his chair and stretched his hand through his thinning hair.
“I knew this day would come,” he murmured in a quiet voice.
“What does this mean?” I demanded, my voice is shaking. “Why did you lie to me?”
He stared at the floor, his face was full of regret. “You weren’t adopted,” he whispered. “You’re your mother’s baby … but not mine. She had a ratio.”
His words hit me as a blow. “What do you say?”
“She cheated on me,” he said bitterly. “When she became pregnant, she begged me not to leave. I stayed, but every time I looked at you, I just saw what she did for me. So I made up an adoption story.”
My hands began to shake. “Have you lied to me all my life? Why would you do that?”
He exhaled and his shoulders fell under the weight of guilt. “I don’t know. I was hurt. I got angry. I thought if you believed you weren’t mine, it could make it easier. Maybe it would prevent me to hate it so much. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”
Tears blurred my vision, my voice barely over whisper. “Did you choose documents?”
He nodded and the shame wrote through his face. “I had a friend in the record office. He owed me kindness. It wasn’t hard to make it look official.”
I felt like I was choking. All teasing, visits to the orphanages, notes about my “real parents” – it wasn’t about me about me. It was a whole way to deal with his own pain.
“I was just a child,” I said, and my voice barely audible. “I didn’t deserve that.”
“I know,” he said, and his voice burst. “I know I disappointed you.”
I got up, my legs shaken under me. “I can’t do it right now. When time comes, I will make sure you take care of it. But I can’t stay,” I said, turning to Matt. “Let’s go.”
Matt clenched the jaw as he looked at my father. He put my hand on my shoulder. “You come with me,” he said quietly.
When we left, my father’s voice called me. “I’m sorry! I’m really!” But I didn’t turn.
Conclusion
When I left, the weight of my father’s confession persisted in the air and every step felt harder than the last. Years of pain, confusion and rejection were rooted in a lie, and although I could never erase the injuries that caused it, I knew I had to move forward. I couldn’t change the past, but I could choose how to recover.
Matt was at my side, his silent support was a stable reminder that despite the fracture of my past, there was still love and hope in my future. I wasn’t an orphan that made me my father believed I was. I was a child of my mother, and while the truth came up with my own collection of challenges, it also liberated me from the shadows of lies that defined so much of my life.
When I took a deep breath, I knew the way in front of us would be difficult. But for the first time in my life, I felt as if I finally started to get back the story of who I really was. And that in itself was a kind of freedom I never thought I could find.
