They Must Not Be My Real Parents
I’m 16 and I have good reason to think my mom and dad aren’t my real parents. I had a much older sister who completed suicide when I was six and she was 26. All of her stuff is in the basement in boxes. I don’t remember too much about her honestly and it makes me sad sometimes. My parents don’t talk much about her.
There’s also a painting in our house that she painted. It’s a very nice painting of a swamp, and it’s my favorite thing. Anyway, one day I decided to go looking through all of her stuff, mostly for more pictures.
What I found was a bunch of notebooks of writing she did, mostly poetry. I felt weird reading them at first because they were mostly about her depression…
I read this one that was about how she had a baby and someone took him away. It’s really short and I didn’t really understand it, like a lot of it seemed metaphorical I guess is the word.
Anyways, I asked my mom if she ever had a baby and my mom was really weird about it. She wanted to know why I would ask that. I said I just found some stuff in the basement and was curious.
She got mad at me and told me not to snoop and said she didn’t have kids. Then I started thinking about it. I am the spitting image of my sister but I don’t look like my mom or dad. I casually asked my mom to see my birth certificate the next day and she got mad again and wouldn’t let me see it. Story credit: Reddit / Artimachoke