**Diary Entry 3rd May 2024**
When I first came to in the hospital, the pain wasnt what hit meit was the light. Blinding, sharp, white light that burned through my eyelids and left red splotches behind my vision. Then came the heaviness, my body stiff and unfamiliar, every muscle aching. My throat was sandpaper-dry. I twitched my fingerscold plastic tubing taped to my wrist.
A hospital. I was in a hospital.
Memories returned in jagged pieces, like torn photographs. Late evening. Rain slicking the pavements of London, turning streetlights into smeared halos. The screech of brakesthen nothing. Just black.
I turned my head slowly. The ward was smallthree beds, but the other two lay empty, sheets pulled tight. The window was veiled by thin, yellowed curtains, daylight pressing through. How long had I been here? The gap in my memory was terrifying.
The door was ajar. Muffled voices drifted innurses, trolleys, a cough. And then, unmistakably, Mum.
*»I dont know how to look her in the eye,»* Mum whispered, her voice trembling. *»Shell crumble, David. Her whole world will.»*
*»You shouldve told her years ago,»* came the replygruff, familiar. Uncle David. *»Twenty-three years of lies? Thats not a small thing.»*
*»Dontnot now,»* Mum begged, exhaustion thick in her voice. *»I cant bear this.»*
*»When *can* you bear it?»* His tone was sharp now. *»You built a house on sand, Sarah. Twenty-three years shes believed you were her parents.»*
I froze. The air in my lungs turned to ice. What? *Lies?* This had to be a nightmare.
*»We *are* her parents!»* Mums voice cracked with desperation. *»We raised her, loved hertaught her walk, read, held her when she cried! That makes us her mum and dad!»*
*»Biologically? No.»*
The words hung like poison in the antiseptic air. My vision tilted. No. This wasnt true. My parentsMum, smelling of lavender and baking; Dad, with his paint-stained hands and endless patiencethey were *mine*.
*»You had no right»*
*»She deserved the truth!»* Uncle David snapped. *»After the accident, the blood testsyou and Ian have type O. Shes AB. Its impossible. The hospital called me as next of kin.»*
I bit my lip to keep from crying out. *AB.* A strangers blood in my veins.
*»Why dig this up?»* Mum sobbed.
*»Because she has a right to know where she comes from!»*
Silence. Then, quieter: *»Who was she? Her real mother?»*
*»A girl named Lucy Hart,»* Uncle David murmured. *»Sixteen. Bad home. Got pregnant, parents threw her out. She gave the baby up at birth. Died two years lateroverdose.»*
Dead. The woman who bore me was dead. A broken girl with no future.
*»Why tell her now?»* Mum whispered.
*»Because secrets like this *always* surface. Better it comes from you.»*
The door creaked. I shut my eyes, feigning calm. Mums fingers brushed minewarm, familiar, now scalding.
*»Sweetheart?»* Her voice was fragile. *»Youre awake. How do you feel?»*
I opened my eyes. Her face was gaunt, shadows under her eyes.
*»I heard everything,»* I whispered. *»About the blood. About Lucy.»*
She swayed, gripping the bed. *»Oh, GodMarina, I»*
*»Is it true?»* My voice cracked.
She crumpled, clutching my hand. *»We *chose* you. Loved you from the second we held you.»*
Uncle David hovered in the doorway, guilt heavy on his face.
*»How old was she?»* I asked.
*»Sixteen,»* Mum choked out. *»Alone. Gone by eighteen.»*
I swallowed hard. *»Why didnt you tell me?»*
*»I was *terrified*,»* she wept. *»Terrified youd leave. But youre *mine*. Not by bloodby *love*.»*
And I realisedshe was right. Family isnt just genes. Its nights spent worrying, scraped knees kissed, laughter shared.
*»Lets go home,»* I murmured, stroking her hair. *»Dads probably losing his mind waiting.»*
She nodded, hope flickering in her eyes.
The truth had shattered my old world. But maybejust maybeI could build a new one. Stronger. Real.
Because love? Thats thicker than blood.
