Hello,

This is the very first suggestion that I got on my Once upon a time Questions. I'll take some more and write them. I had fun making this up. And I hope you'll enjoy it. This is the suggestion of EvilQueensdaughterRapunzel. Here you go.

Review if you love this. Any word is right.

TempeGeller

Chapter 1: A truth untold

Belle Mills

I've always felt different in my family; it's not just looks. It's everything. It's the feeling I get from my family. They've never made me feel inferior or something. They think it's strange that I love to read and write. They believe that it's odd that I love drawing and that I'm good at it. It's the red hair in a family full of dark black.
It's the fact that my skin couldn't be paler and yet they had a tan.
For some reason, I've always felt like an outsider. My brother Neal has always fitted in. My brother is like my family wants it. He likes sports; he loves cars. He is the person my parents want him to be. I, however, have a small blue car. A car that I found at a second-hand store, something my parents was not good enough for me. I got my way, and now Chip is mine. Yes, I call my car Chip. Simple, because it has one small dent in the back that looks like a chip. After the small accident, I called him that.

There's so much to say about me. I've always been a girl that loves seeing the best in everyone. That brought me to my ex-boyfriend, Gaston. He was a vain person. I thought I could make him into something he wasn't. It turns out that I couldn't. He was worse that I could have expected. He was a mean man, when he made fun of my brother, I broke up with him. Nobody makes fun of Neal. Neal is popular; it's just Gaston is pretty much a rebel. He makes fun of everyone that isn't part of his friend group. Gaston is a biker; he likes to ride around the town, terrorizing people. I didn't know that when we started dating. That's why we only dated for a few weeks. He also found it strange that I had dated both boys and girls. Which made me very strange in my family. My mother never truly got over the whole bisexual thing. So I simply didn't mention it anymore. I remembered when I brought home Emma Swan. I only had one boyfriend before that. I even forgot his name. My mother had yelled at me; she had humiliated me in front of Emma. We didn't break up much later; I would like to believe it was my mother's fault. The truth is that Emma had problems with commitment.
I wanted to be like the rest of my family, but it seemed that being different was the only thing I could do in my family. It wasn't that my mother didn't love me, she loved me very much. She called me her small Belle. I was her daughter, she always said. My father Henry said pretty much the same thing. They were a nice couple, and it seemed that they were the only couple to stay together in the whole school. Emma's parents Mary Margaret and David seemed to make breaking up a sport. It wasn't clear if they were together, or if they were not. Which brings me to my new boyfriend. His name is Graham. We've been together for three months, and it seems that we're good together. He always tells me he loves how smart I am. It's nice to be respected that way.

Today I was sitting in biology. I had always loved school, I got great marks, and the teachers loved me. There was not one day that I didn't do great at Storybrooke Hall. My teacher of Biology was called Nova. She preferred to be called by the first name; she was rare that way. As I stared at the blackboard, I thought about things that were out of my control. I thought of my family. In class, we were talking about blood types. First, she talked about what blood types existed. There was A, B, AB and O. All four of these groups existed in negative and positive. After a while, Nova announced we would be testing our blood. She gave a simple small piece of paper that was made for this kind of tests.
"Let's begin our blood type test," Nova said. "Use the needles to prick your finger and pour the blood on the four fields. There will be a reaction in one of the fields."
I did exactly what she said. I pricked my finger and put the blood on the paper. I noticed right away that I was AB. I had not expected it; I always assumed I would have O. Yet immediately I could notice the proof in front of my eyes. I stared at Graham, who seemed to have B. I gave him a soft smile. I wanted to know what my parents would say. I was sure they would be interested. They always pretended to listen when I talked about school; I didn't think today would be any different.

"Only 1 percent of the population is AB," I said when my mother stared at me. There was a strange look on my mother's face, almost like the thing I said couldn't be true.
"That's impossible. You can't be AB because your mom and I are both A." My father replied. "Which means you should either be An or O."
"Blood doesn't lie," I said as I turned away from my parents.
"I'm telling you it's genetically impossible."
"Nothing is impossible," I replied. "I mean there is something like resistive. It works like that right?"
"Not with blood, honey." He replied. "I'm sure there is something wrong with the test. It has to be a mistake, honey."
I could hardly believe my father had pushed it away just like that. A test couldn't be wrong right, would there be the same trouble in other households? A strange feeling appeared to me, almost like my parents were keeping something from me. Was I adopted? Was that the reason I didn't look like my parents? Was that the reason I was so different? Had I grown up in a family that was not mine? I wanted to know the truth, but I had no idea how I needed to ask my mother about anything. When I went up the stairs, I looked at her. It almost seemed that my family was strangers to me. When I looked at my room, there were three things you could notice. A small dresser filled with as little as clothes as possible. A double bed pushed to the left side of the room, and the other walls were filled with bookcases. I had over 1000 books in here, and then I wasn't counting the books in my private library. I had a small art studio downstairs. I stared at the books; I always assumed they were my identity. I spoke ten languages. Spanish and French were part of them. I never knew why I was so fond of languages. My parents were nowhere near good in them. My mother Cora only spoke French and refused to study any other language. She was the mayor of the town and many times they referred to me as the mayor's kid. We lived in the largest house on the block. In Storybrooke we were the richest. I didn't like that. Right now I felt that I couldn't say anything, if I did, people would find out. People couldn't find out. My mother liked her good reputation, and she wouldn't want to lose it. So I couldn't say anything to my friends about it. Not that I had many.
"Belle…" I stared at my mother. "I'm going to the store, are you going?"
"Sure mom." I smiled. "If I can buy a book."
"Sure you can buy a book. You can buy the whole store if I care. " Cora smiled. "I stop by the bookstore on our way home, does that sound good? Maybe we can stop by the art store too?"
"I do need some paint." I nodded. "And some brushes."

I jumped off my bed, grabbed my bag and coat. After that, I ran towards the car. I got inside; my mother bought me book way too often. I had not read all my books, but my mother thought it was important to fill my library. There were so many cases to be filled. My mother didn't understand my love for reading, but she fully supported it. I stared at the road as we passed by a piece of graffiti. I never wanted my mother to know I drew them; I wanted no one to know. I had a series of drawings of a little girl I painted around the city. She was always holding another object. Sometimes it was a book; sometimes it was more violent.
"I wish I knew who was doing them." Cora rolled her eyes. "Then Jefferson could arrest whoever did it and be done with it."
"Mom, it's art."
"I know you think it's art, sweetie," Cora replied. "But it's not art. It's graffiti. What if we all went around doing that stuff?"
"I wouldn't mind if you were any good." I smiled. "Imagine how colorful Storybrooke would look like."

We both laughed. I knew mother wanted to say something, yet she kept her mouth shut and stared at me. A thin smile appeared on her face.
"Why do you think we see things differently?" I asked her. "I mean…"
"Because you're a teenager, Belle." Cora smiled. "We're supposed to disagree."
"Yeah, but we disagree on stupid stuff," I explained. "I like operas and musicals and that stuff. And it looked at us; we look so different. I am pale; you have a tan. I have red hair; your hair is as dark as it can get. Was I adopted or something?"
It became quiet in the car. Cora didn't know what to say. She only stared at the road, without saying a single word. This was the moment my mother was going, being honest with me. She was going to say that she wasn't my mother. She was going to say she adopted me as a child. Finally, everything would make sense.
"You're not adopted, Belle." Cora reacted. "I can show the stretch marks to prove it."
"Mom, would you want to do something for me?" I pulled all my courage together to ask the next question. I didn't like asking it, but I needed to. I needed to know for sure if they were my biological parents. I needed to know, that was what drove me to ask the next question. I stared at her, as I bit my lips. I looked down to my feet. Then I opened my mouth, and simply asked: "Would you agree to a DNA test? Just to make sure…"
"Is it about that blood test?" Cora stared at Belle. "Things can be wrong sometimes."
"No, it's about this feeling I've had my whole life." I paused. "Please."
"Okay, but only to prove you that you are my daughter."

That afternoon we made an appointment at the doctor's office. I sat in my studio painting the whole time. I thought about what would be said. Part of me hoped that I would be told they were my parents. The biggest part feared they weren't my parents. What would happen if I was not their daughter? Would they throw me on the streets? Would they not love me anymore? Why had I even brought this up, fear build up in me? Two days later we went to the appointment; I didn't love it. My parents didn't either. I promised to them it made me happy. And both of them did anything to make me happy.

As the weeks passed by, I felt that I couldn't concentrate on anything. I did my homework, but I hardly ever did anything outside school but homework. I hardly talked to my brother and tried to ignore conversations with my mother. The most of the times she seemed to show me proof that I was, in fact, her daughter. When the day for the results got there, I was struck down by fear. I didn't want to hear they were not my parents. A part of me was scared that was the thing I would hear. I stared at my brother, who thought it was a stupid idea altogether. He told me the test would change nothing, I was his annoying sister, and I would stay his annoying sister. When we stepped in that room, I stared at the doctor. It was Doctor Whale, we all knew him. His face told me nothing. I simply sat down and stared at him.
"Mister and Misses Mills." He stared at them. "Belle."
"Let me get down to it." He took the file in his hands. " We've done an extensive test on all three of you. There is a 99.9 percent chance that Belle is not related to you."
There was a silence in the room; tears appeared in my mother's eyes. Which was a strange thing, since my mother never cried. My father tried to be strong, but it seemed that he was almost losing it too. How could this be? How did this happen? I couldn't understand. My parents were not my biological parents.
"The hospital believes there was a mix-up." Whale stared at my parents. "Someone wasn't careful matching the ID anklets. You took home someone else's baby, and another family took home yours. It's a rare case. It's a lot to take in."

My senses went completely numb. I saw my parents and the doctor's lips move, yet there was nothing that came inside. I had no idea what they were saying; I was too busy thinking about everything. I thought about the child that was supposed to be in my place. But more I thought about the family I was supposed to be part of. What was my birth mother like? Did she love books as much as I did? Would she have loved me? I couldn't come to think that I didn't love my mother. I couldn't say that I would see my biological mother as my true mother. I didn't know what to think. I wanted to get up and walk from the room. I wanted to spray my feelings on the walls of the city. I wanted to shout. I wanted to do things, but I was for sure that my mother didn't want to share this information. Our personal lives should always remain on the inside. That was the truth about it all. I couldn't disrespect these rules. I stared in front of myself. I stared at my mother.
"Where is this child?"

And then it hit me, the real truth. I was not born Belle Mills. I was someone I didn't know. And in just that second I felt like everything I had ever been melted away from me. I felt that I no longer knew who I was. My reflection was smashed and I was left with the pieces