A Mother's Bond

4

"Okay, so why are you here?" I asked, still confused. "And why am I in this interrogation room? Are you recording me? Am I in trouble or something?"

She shook her head. "No, you're not in trouble, and I'm not recording you. There's no one behind that glass. It's just the two of us. All I want to do is talk."

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Talk about what? If I'm really not in trouble, then why are you here? Did my mama send you to pick me up or something, and if so, why? Because I've never seen you before. Who are you? How do you know my mama? You work with her? Is she not here because she couldn't miss her shift? Is that why you're here?"

"You have a lot of questions." She remarked.

"Because you have no answers," I snapped, annoyed.

She pursed her lips, as if wondering how much she should tell me. After an internal debate, she stuck her hand into her pocket and pulled out a card.

"My name is Isobel Hewitt. I'm a private investigator, and I've spent the past 11 years searching for you."

I narrowed my eyes, ignoring the card. So, she was some type of cop. I immediately regretted speaking to her.

"I don't know anything about anything." I mumbled, sitting back.

She chuckled slightly, shaking her head. "You don't know how true that is."

I frowned, folding my arms protectively across my chest. She sighed.

"I don't know how to say this gently," she murmured. "Maybe it would be best for you to see it for yourself."

I watched her closely as she picked up her briefcase from the floor and lay it down on the table. She snapped the latch open and pulled out a folder. She slid it over to me. I looked at it for a few seconds before opening it. Inside was a copy of a birth certificate.

"August Marigold Knowles. Born December 20th, 2000." I stopped reading, uninterested. "Who the hell is she, and why should I care?"

"You should care because she's you."

I blinked a few times, surprised by her answer. I suppose I should have expected it. Why else would a private investigator be looking for me? I still couldn't believe it though.

"Bullshit." I said, pushing it back towards her. "My name is Sarayah Elizabeth Thompson. I was born July 4th, 2000. Sorry, must be hard since you've been searching for 11 years and all, but you got the wrong girl. Good luck finding her though."

I started to get up, but she placed a picture on the table. I paused despite myself. It looked...familiar. I leaned in closer. It looked like...

I picked it up slowly, hand shaking. The kid looked to be around four years old. She had huge curly brown hair, freckles, and bright hazel eyes. She was grinning at the camera, dimples prominently on display, squeezing a stuffed animal in her pudgy little arms. I had never seen a picture of myself before the age of seven, but this was undoubtedly me. I slowly sat back down, clutching the photograph in my hands.

"I was hired by your mother to find you after you were kidnapped 11 years ago. There weren't many witnesses, but I managed to track down someone who saw you get picked up by a woman who I later identified as Patricia Roberts."

I wanted to tell her I had no idea who that was, but the words got stuck in my throat. She pulled out another piece of paper and handed it to me. It was a sketch of Mama. It wasn't a very good one. Her face was twisted in a snarl, morphing her features. Nearly everything looked wrong except the eyes. They stared back at me now, a brown so dark it was almost black. I shivered. Those eyes didn't belong in that face. She looked so...evil.

"All we had to go off of were descriptions. There weren't many people who knew her, and there were no pictures. As it turns out, it's because 'Patricia Roberts', at least the one we were looking for, doesn't exist. It was a fake name. It explains why you don't recognize it. She probably dropped it the moment she picked you up. We still don't know her real name, but you probably know her as Alison Thompson."

My vision blurred. This could not be happening to me. This was too crazy. I had to get back home.

"No," I whispered.

She nodded sympathetically. "For the past 11 years I've been monitoring police stations and hospitals for admittance of suspicious persons, namely people with suspected fake identities, or missing documents."

My breath came out in short gasps. I bounced my leg, trying unsuccessfully to calm myself.

"I'm sure this is all very hard to hear, but the good news is your real mom is on the way. She's going to take you out of here, and you can put this all behind you."

It felt like someone was squeezing my heart. This was too much. Too much.

"I'm really sorry you have to go through this, August."

She reached across the table to touch my arm, but I pulled away. My heart was pounding. I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. It was deafening. I suddenly stood up, knocking the chair backwards.

"NO!" I screamed.

"August–" She started, but I wasn't having any of her bullshit.

"MY NAME IS SARAYAH!" I yelled in her face.

Officer Jones burst through the door, but the woman, Isobel, held up a hand to stop him.

"I'll give you some time to process this. It's a lot to take in. I'll be back to check in on you."

I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks.

"No amount of time is gonna make me believe you!" I screamed, but in my heart, I knew the truth.

My 'mama' had kidnapped me. It explained everything. The lack of pictures from when I was younger. The secretiveness. The isolation. The paranoia. And I knew. I always knew something wasn't right.

I thought back to yesterday, her words floating through my head of their own accord.

You have no idea what I've had to go through to have you, and I pray you never do.

I thought she was talking about regular struggles. Money, family problems maybe. She'd always been vague about my early years, so she was right. I didn't know what she'd been through. But in that moment, staring at the truth, I finally did.