The Truth

Before we even met you.

The words echoed through her mind. It wasn't so much what he said but how he said it. She released her father's hand using her legs, pushed herself backwards to the end of his bed. His eyes followed her, unsure of what she was doing. It wasn't until she took hold of his chart that hung on the foot of the bed that he began to understand.

She opened the large brown binder that contained all of the medical information documented since his admittance. Her knowledge of the medical field was greater than most other trained photographers. Even though she graduated with a degree in photography, she spent the first year of college in a nursing program. She had learned how to administer medicines intravenously, clean wounds, and even make a quick and accurate diagnosis of some basic illnesses and treat them. It wasn't until the summer after her freshman year in college that she discovered her passion for photography. She spent that summer with her new camera driving up and down the Florida coastline taking pictures of the scenery. It wasn't until then that she really found a passion for anything

Her eyes scanned the documents in front of her. Pouring over the information she could see that his condition was critical, his MRI showed an aneurysm in the left frontal lobe of his brain. His kidney was severely mangled, it was any wonder that he was still alive. But the information that was most shocking to her was a simple letter.

A-

James knew she had found the information that she had been searching for. The look in her eyes said it all. There, in that small room, she had learned the truth of the secret that they had kept from her for so long.

These are not my parents. The thought was playing like a broken record though her ears. The sound of the hospital grew around her. She was suddenly aware of everything. The clock ticking on the wall, the diminishing sunlight through the blinds. Voices of people in the next room, and the sound of her own heart. Her ears pounded out the internal rhythm of her heart. It wasn't until she heard it quicken that she realizes she needed to breathe.

With a gasp, air rushed into her lugs, burning as they filled with the oxygen her body needed. "I'm not your daughter, am I daddy?" It wasn't until she said these words that the harshness struck her.

"No, sweetheart, you are not biologically ours." The look on his face was pure anguish. It was time to tell her the truth of her situation. "Come, sit with me." He motioned her over with a waive of the hand as he scooted his body over so that she could have some room. Using her legs, she pulled herself forward in the chair, and with her good arm, lifted her body up. She sat on the edge of the bed, and swung her legs up so that she was seated next to him. He put his arm round her and began her story.

"Twenty-six years ago, your mother and I found out that we could never have any children of our own. It was our dream to have a baby girl of our own. Our very own little princess. So we began searching for an adoption agency. We were quickly approved to be parents, but the process of finding a baby was not nearly as easy. We had set up a nursery for the baby that was to be ours, everything was ready. We had several close calls in fact. We had gone to the extent of being called to the hospital to meet a baby that was to be ours, and had the opportunity to hold her. The adoption papers could not be signed until the baby was released from the hospital. So two days later, your mom and I went back to the hospital, car seat an diaper bag in hand only to find out that the birth mother had changed her mind. We packed up, and went home empty handed. We had, at that moment, given up hope of ever having a child of our own." He paused and looked down at his daughter who was now curled into his arm listening intently.

"That same year, late on Christmas Eve night, our adoption agent called us into her office. She said it was a delicate situation, and to get there quickly. We wasted no time. Once we had arrived, our agent greeted us at the door holding the most beautiful brown haired baby girl that we had ever seen. Your mother took you into her arms and held you tight. The agent has told us that the biological mother had been in the States since the first of June, and that she was in the run from the United Kingdom. She had given birth on June twenty-third of that year, but had been discovered by whoever she was hiding from and had surrendered you for adoption. We had been selected as your parents and we signed the papers that night. We called you our 'Christmas Miracle'. Several weeks later our agent had informed us that your biological mother had passed away. We never knew who your biological father might be. We had thought it best to keep this from you. It was for your protection, we never wanted whoever your biological mother was running from to find you."

She was speechless. She could do nothing but hold her dad tighter, being careful not to hurt her arm any more. "Thank you, daddy. For everything. Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for raising me. I could never have asked for a better life than the one you gave me." Her eyes stung with tears as they flowed down her cheeks. She had never spoken more from her heart in her life. She now understood the depth of her parents love for her.

"My princess, thank you. You have filled my life with more happiness than any man could ever ask for. You have given me a full and complete life." He kissed her head, and held her tightly. She could have fallen asleep there if her nurse did not come in at that moment.

"Time for you to get some rest, Miss. I'm so sorry to interrupt." Jackie approached the father and daughter and outstretched a hand to help Rachel back into her chair.

Rachel gave her dad a kiss on the cheek goodnight, and promised to be back as soon as she could in the morning.

"So sorry to hear about your mum, miss. Today has been such a tragic day for all of London." Jackie pushed her along the corridor to the lift.

"Thank you." Was all Rachel could manage to reply. The rest of the way to the room they were both silent.

Jackie helped Rachel back into bed, and re-dosed her medication. Seemingly, within seconds, Rachel was drifting asleep.

Music was playing in a distant room. The sounds of a full orchestra playing a waltz. She was looking at herself in a mirror. She was in a stunning purple, single shoulder, floor length gown with an embellished waistline. Her hair was swept up into a stunning updo, with brown curls cascading down. There was a knock at the door, "come in", she heard herself say. A man in a tuxedo walked in. He was tall, had dark curly hair, but she couldn't make out the face. "Shall we?" the gentleman's voice was deep, but smooth like velvet. He offered his arm and they began to walk out the door. "Rachel."

"Rachel."

"Rachel."

She was being shook. A hand was upon her arm, gently urging her out of her sleep. She wasn't ready. She didn't want to leave her dream. Who was this mystery man? She opened her eyes slowly, the harsh light of the surrounding room blinding her.

"I am afraid I have some difficult news." The voice was that of Dr. Turner. "Rachel, I am so sorry but your father passed away this morning at 2:54. He suffered a stroke from a ruptured aneurysm. We did everything we could to save him." The words hit her as if they were bricks. Dr. Turner took hold of her hand. "I am so sorry for your losses. My deepest condolences go out to you."

Rachel wrenched her hand back. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She began to rock back and forth, drawing her knees up to her chest. She felt as though she might vomit. In one swift motion, she reached to her right, grabbing the small container they had left in case she got sick and threw up. She put the container back on the table, and a nurse quickly disposed of the contents. She began sobbing uncontrollably. Her sobs turned into screams. Dr. Turner ordered a nurse to give her something. within a few moments, Rachel felt herself drifting back into the bed. Everything went blank.

"Poor girl, lost her mother and father all in one day. Tomorrow get in touch with the American embassy. She'll need some help getting home. Get that Hooper girl on the line. Let her know that Mr. Westmoore will be on his way shortly." Dr Turner finished her notes and gave the nurse the last of her instructions. She turned off the light and let herself out of the room quietly.

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