Chapter 1
Chapter One: The Photograph
The day I discovered the photograph was the day I realized my mother had lied to me.
Not a small lie.
Not the kind of lie mothers tell when they say dinner is ready when it isn't.
This was different.
This was the kind of lie that could destroy everything I thought I knew about my family.
My name is Amara, and I was eighteen years old when I discovered that my entire childhood had been built on a secret.
Until that evening, I believed I knew my mother better than anyone else in the world.
I was wrong.
It was a rainy Thursday evening.
Rain hammered against the windows of our small house, and every few minutes, thunder shook the walls.
My mother was supposed to be home before seven, but she had called earlier to tell me she would be late.
"Don't wait for me," she had said.
Something about her voice sounded strange.
I noticed it, but I didn't think much of it.
I had an assignment to finish, so I went into her bedroom looking for an old box of my school certificates.
She kept the box inside the bottom section of her wardrobe.
I pulled it out and placed it on the bed.
Inside were my certificates, old birthday cards, childhood photographs and documents from when I was younger.
I smiled as I looked through them.
There was a picture of me on my fifth birthday, wearing a pink dress and holding a cake almost as big as my head.
Another showed me on my first day of school, crying while my mother tried to convince me to let go of her hand.
I smiled.
Those memories were precious to me.
Then I noticed something underneath the photographs.
An envelope.
It was old and slightly yellow.
There was only one word written across the front.
AMARA.
I frowned.
Why would my mother have an envelope with my name hidden among my childhood things?
I looked toward the bedroom door.
For a moment, I considered putting it back.
Then curiosity won.
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
I pulled it out.
And everything inside me went still.
It was a picture of a little girl.
She looked about two years old.
She had round cheeks, thick black hair tied into two small ponytails and a tiny smile on her face.
But it wasn't her smile that frightened me.
It was her eyes.
Those eyes were mine.
I stared at the photograph.
My heart began beating faster.
"No," I whispered.
I turned the photograph over.
There was a date written on the back.
June 14, 2006.
Underneath it was a sentence.
"She deserves to know the truth one day."
I read it again.
Then again.
June 14, 2006.
My mind struggled to understand.
I was born in 2008.
Two years after the photograph was taken.
I looked at the girl again.
She looked exactly like me.
Not similar.
Exactly like me.
The same eyes.
The same nose.
Even the tiny mark beneath her left eye was there.
The same mark I had always had.
My fingers began to tremble.
There had to be an explanation.
Maybe the date was wrong.
Maybe the photograph belonged to someone else.
Maybe—
The bedroom door opened.
I turned around.
My mother stood there.
She was soaked from the rain.
Her handbag hung from one hand, and drops of water fell from her clothes onto the floor.
But she wasn't looking at me.
She was staring at the photograph.
The color slowly disappeared from her face.
"Amara," she whispered.
I had never heard fear in my mother's voice before.
Until that moment.
"Who is she?"
My mother didn't answer.
"Mom."
She took a step toward me.
"Where did you get that?"
"From your wardrobe."
She reached for the photograph.
I pulled it away.
"Why was my name written on the envelope?"
"Give it to me, Amara."
"No."
"Please."
"Tell me who she is."
My mother looked at me.
Her lips trembled.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
The rain continued beating against the windows.
Then she whispered:
"That is you."
I let out a nervous laugh.
"No, it isn't."
"It is."
"Mom, that's impossible."
"I know."
I stared at her.
"What does that mean?"
She sat slowly on the edge of the bed.
For the first time in my life, my mother looked old.
Not physically.
Something about her expression made her look tired, as if she had been carrying something heavy for years.
"There are things about your childhood that I never wanted you to know."
My heart sank.
"What things?"
She looked down at her hands.
"I was trying to protect you."
"Protect me from what?"
She didn't answer.
"Mom, please."
She finally raised her eyes to mine.
"From your father."
The room suddenly felt colder.
My father.
The man whose name my mother had refused to mention for eighteen years.
The man I had grown up believing had abandoned us before I was born.
Whenever I asked about him, my mother always gave me the same answer.
"He wasn't a good man."
That was all she ever said.
No photographs.
No stories.
No explanations.
Nothing.
I had spent years wondering what he looked like.
Sometimes I imagined him.
Sometimes I hated him.
Sometimes I wondered whether he ever thought about me.
But my mother had always insisted that he didn't deserve to be part of my life.
Now, for the first time, I wondered whether everything she had told me was a lie.
"What does Dad have to do with this photograph?"
My mother stood up.
She walked toward the window and pulled the curtain aside slightly.
She looked outside.
Then she quickly closed it again.
"Mom?"
She didn't answer.
I stepped closer.
"What are you hiding?"
She turned toward me.
Her eyes were filled with tears.
"Your father is not the man you think he is."
My heart pounded.
"What does that mean?"
She opened her mouth to speak.
But before she could say another word—
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Someone was at the door.
My mother froze.
I looked at her.
"Who is that?"
She didn't answer.
Three more knocks followed.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
My mother's face changed.
Fear appeared in her eyes.
Real fear.
The kind I had never seen before.
She grabbed my wrist.
"Amara."
"What?"
"Listen to me carefully."
Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Do not open that door."
I stared at her.
"Why?"
She didn't answer.
Another knock came.
This time, it was louder.
My mother squeezed my wrist.
Then she whispered four words that made my blood run cold.
"He's come back for you."
The lights went out.
And someone outside whispered my name.
