The day had begun flawlessly, one of those infrequent, idyllic days when everything seemed to fall into place.
I was already unusually rejuvenated when I woke up. On my walk to work, my favorite song was playing, the weather outside was crisp but not too chilly, and my coffee was just right. I was walking through the marketplace when I noticed a little wooden stall. Delicate wooden sculptures, each with minute details, were being carved by a guy with rough hands.
I said to him, “Nice job,” as I picked up a pepper mill. It was well-made and felt sturdy.
“Made by hand,” he smiled proudly. “No two are alike.”
Without hesitation, I purchased it. He retrieved a smaller object—a salt shaker with the same type of carving—from beneath his counter while he was finishing it up. He said, “Take this.” “A present. They are meant to be together.
He persisted even though I was hesitant. With a knowing expression, he declared, “It’s yours.”
I had a strange feeling of warmth in my chest as I left. A tiny act of generosity, perhaps a hint that the cosmos was on my side.
After that, get to work. My boss got the crew together right before lunch. She remarked, looking around the room before focusing on me, “We’ve made a decision.” “You deserve it. Congratulations.
a raise. Yes, there is more responsibility, but there is also greater compensation and recognition. Life seemed to be coming together in a manner that was uncommon.
I grinned to myself as I rode that high all the way home. But as soon as I got to my apartment door, that feeling vanished.
A message. recorded at eye level. Four words, penned with hasty, somewhat desperate strokes:
My life was stolen by you!
I felt sick to my stomach.
My fingers hovered just over the page while I stood motionless in the corridor. Is it a joke? An error? Though my mind raced with ideas, none of them made sense. There was silence as I looked up and down the hallway.
I took my time peeling off the notice and locked the door after entering. As I put my belongings down, my hands shook. I kept hearing the words.
I hardly slept that night. In my flat, every sound seemed more menacing and louder. I continued to relive my day—with whom had I interacted? How could anyone think I had taken their life?
The morning merely brought tiredness, not enlightenment. I went to see my parents because I wanted air and space. I promised myself not to mention the note. I wanted them to not be concerned.
The uneasiness had begun to lessen by late afternoon. The doorbell rang when I was drinking tea at the kitchen table.
A messenger.
He handed me a medium-sized package and said, “For you.” No address for return. No name.
As I watched him return down the trail, I remained motionless.
My mother asked, putting down a dish, “What is it?”
I pressed my fingers into the box’s edges. My ears throbbed with my heartbeat. “I’m not sure.”
It weighed more than it should have, so I moved it to the living room. I slowly lifted the flaps and pulled off the tape.
There was an old, battered notebook inside.
And one Polaroid picture.
My throat tightened each breath.
I was in the photo. Not just me, though—myself and someone else. On a playground, a boy my age was standing next to me. We were no more than six years old.
I scowled. I didn’t give my early years much thought, but something about this image—this boy—unnerved me.
I turned the notebook over. Dates, notes, and recollections abound throughout the pages, but not mine. The ink faded over time, and they were written in a distinct handwriting style. My gut twisted more and more as I read.
It was a journal. An account of a different life.
A life that ought to have been mine, based on these pages.
The author described her upbringing in foster care. shifting from one residence to another. observing me, someone else, lead a life that ought to have been his. The notes were painstaking, bordering on obsessive. He was well aware of me. My first job, my schools, and even my promotion.
My heart pounding, I read more quickly.
I then arrived at the final entry.
“Everything that I should have is yours. The opportunities, the work, and the family. I had it first. Don’t worry, though. I’m coming to retrieve it.
I let the book fall. I had trembling hands.
My fog was broken by my mother’s voice. “What’s the matter?”
My mouth was dry as I gazed up at her. I was at a loss for words.
I didn’t think about the past too often. I was too little to recall much about my early adoption. I had always been informed by my parents that they had adopted me privately. that I got selected.
Never once had I doubted it.
However, now—
It was being questioned for me by someone else now.
The possibilities rushed through my thoughts. This individual might be my biological sibling. Had something gone wrong, a misunderstanding?
I have to be aware.
I gave the adoption agency a call the following morning. I asked for whatever information they could provide. After some hesitation, the mother on the call acknowledged that there had been a second child. A boy. When our original mother vanished, we were placed in state custody.
I had been fortunate.
It appeared that he had finally located me.
I had no idea what to anticipate—rage? Anger? Retaliation?
However, there was no doubt that this was not the end.
I couldn’t let it go, but I wasn’t prepared for what followed.
I still didn’t have the whole story, even after reading the diary a dozen times, looking at the photo of the two of us on that playground, and searching through the scant adoption paperwork I could find.
I had a brother.
He also thought I had taken his life.
I was afraid since I didn’t know what he was going to do next. Is he going to try to harm me? Face me? Was he already observing me? I had no way of knowing, but I did know that I needed to locate him first.
The diary just had the letters L.B., not a name. However, I got some hints from the final few pages. He talked about living in motels, performing odd jobs, and moving from city to city. He had been in town long enough to find me, at least a few weeks.
I began by looking at the motels in the area around my house. With my heart racing, I drove to the first one and approached the front desk. I showed them the Polaroid and added, “I’m looking for someone.”
Behind the counter, the woman scowled. It appears to be familiar. Although he left yesterday, I believe he was here for a few nights.
A dead end.
Before I eventually got a hit, I tried two additional locations. An older man with a cigarette hanging from his lips, the clerk grunted as he looked at the picture. Indeed. He is present. 206th room.
I gasped.
The brother I had never met was standing a few doors away from me. The individual who had written such message on my door.
I paused. What if he was unwilling to speak? What if he desired retribution?
I made myself get up. The door was knocked on.
Quiet.
I pounded again, more forcefully.
Then there were footsteps. A pair of weary, cautious eyes greeted mine as the door cracked open an inch.
He was the one.
I knew him right away. The nose is the same. The eyes are the same form. A rougher, slimmer version of me, as if life had worn him down.
His look was impenetrable as he gazed at me. With a raspy voice, he eventually answered, “You found me.”
“I had to.” I clinched my hands at my sides. “I read the diary.”
His jaw tensed, and I briefly feared that he would slam the door in my face. However, he let out a sigh and moved aside, allowing me to enter.
Lucas was his name.
He had been in foster care for the majority of his childhood, moving from one family to another. Without anyone watching out for him, he had aged out of the system by himself. For years, he had been struggling to make ends meet and had never understood why I had been picked while he had been left behind.
He sat on the side of the bed with his hands clenched together and confessed, “I used to think about you all the time.” I’m curious whether you ever gave me any thought. if you were even aware of my existence.
The lump in my throat was swallowed. Sincerely, I stated, “I didn’t.” “I wish I had.”
A range of emotions, including wrath, despair, and remorse, crossed his face as his eyes flitted to mine.
“I witnessed your life,” he remarked. “The work. The family. Everything I didn’t have. It didn’t seem reasonable.
I gave a headshake. “It was unfair. Not to you.
There was silence between us.
After that, I decided.
I would not allow him to vanish once more.
I whispered, “You don’t have to do this alone.” “I am able to assist you.”
He chuckled bitterly. “How can you help me? Give me cash. Nothing will be fixed by that.
I said, “I’m not just talking about money.” “I mean a new beginning. You require employment and housing. An opportunity.
He looked at me as if he wasn’t sure if he should believe me. It seemed as though no one had ever given him anything without anticipating anything in return.
I didn’t give him a chance to say no.
It wasn’t simple. Lucas was obstinate, protective, and accustomed to living alone. But I gradually assisted him in rebuilding.
I found him a temporary position in the warehouse at my workplace. My parents were persuaded to meet him and embrace him, and they did so with wide arms and heartfelt regrets for not knowing.
We had additional conversations and discovered more about one another.
I shared with him the positive, negative, and life-changing experiences of my early years. He shared with me the evenings he pondered whether anyone had ever desired him.
He gradually began to trust me.
Then, one evening, he knocked on my door, this time without a message.
“This is it,” he continued, passing me a tiny package.
A wooden pepper mill was inside when I opened it.
I gave him a perplexed look.
He smiled slightly and continued, “I found the person who made yours.” “Thought that we should have matching sets if we were going to be family.”
My eyes were burning with tears.
His life wasn’t stolen by me.
However, I might be able to assist him with creating a new one.
People don’t always have the same opportunities in life, but occasionally we have the potential to change that. If you discovered a long-lost sibling, how would you respond? Please leave a comment below and remember to like and follow for more articles!
