The One Who Holds Me (Sovereign Love #4)

22. Alex

22

ALEX

THEN

A fter ending the phone call with Kwame, the doctors trooped into my hospital room, followed by Mom and Dad. They shared the good news that the surgery was a success and my observations were stable, so I was free to go home.

I thought I’d be more excited than I was, but I couldn’t help worrying about the truth that was waiting for me at home. Mom and Dad tucked me in bed as soon as we arrived and Mom warned me to stay in bed and call her on her phone if I needed anything.

My ensuite bedroom is spacious, with a comfortable double bed and desk in the corner. The bathroom is a short walking distance from my bed, which I’m grateful for, especially at a time like this.

“Don’t get out of this bed. Woate me as?m anaa? ” She wagged a finger at me and waited for me to confirm I had heard her before she left my room half an hour ago.

The pain is much more bearable now and I can walk myself to the bathroom, but Mom doesn’t want to hear that. She gave strict instructions to call Dad if I needed to use the bathroom.

I cover my head with my pillow to stop my thoughts from running wild, but it only makes matters worse. I can’t stay here. I need answers. Pushing myself up, I swing my legs over the bed before dialing Mom’s number.

“Mom?” I speak into my phone when she picks up.

“I thought you were sleeping?” Her alarmed voice cuts through before the sound of approaching footsteps travel into my ears from the stairs. She walks into my room, distressed eyes scanning me from head to toe. “ So wo ho ye ?”

“Honestly, Mom? No. I’m not okay.” I stare into the distance as a ball of emotion wells up in my chest.

She rushes to my side and sits next to me on the bed. “ D?n na ?y? b?ne, me ba ?” She wraps her arm around my shoulders.

“What’s wrong is that I don’t think you’ve been honest with me.”

“ Herh . Honest about what?”

I pause and exhale a long breath before saying something I never thought I’d say. “Whether you and Dad are my real parents.”

Her body stiffens, her eyes widen, and her jaw drops open. “What do you mean by that?” She narrows her eyes at me.

“Is there something you and Dad are hiding from me?” I hold her gaze, but she quickly averts it before standing up.

“Why would you ever ask such a question, Alex. Why?” She places both hands on her head as she paces my room.

“Mom, please. I just want you to be honest.” I lift my head to look at her, but before I can put in another word, she storms out of the room, crying out Dad’s name as she runs down the stairs. For a few minutes, all I can hear are their muffled voices in Twi, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.

“Abena, let’s talk to him.” Dad’s voice becomes clearer as footsteps travel up the stairs and toward my room. When they both step in, the look on their faces says it all. “Yaw, I heard you have a question.”

I nod. “Yes, Dad. I do. Our blood types don’t match. Does that mean anything? Are you my real parents?” I think I already know the answer, but it wouldn’t hurt to hear them say it.

Dad clears his throat. “Erm…well I think we need to sit down and have a talk like a family.”

“Okay.” I take a deep breath to slow down my breathing before they confirm my doubts.

Chair legs scratch the floor as Dad pulls out the chair from my desk before signaling for Mom to sit on it.

“Yaw, my son.” Dad’s weight sinks into the space beside me on the bed. “You know we love you, right?” When I don’t respond, he reaches out and squeezes my shoulder. “You know we will never do anything to hurt you, right?”

“I just want to know the truth.” My voice comes out in a whisper, and Dad lets out a big sigh before speaking again.

“No.” His reply finally comes and I turn my head slowly to look at him, wondering if I heard him clearly.

“What?” I ask, my gaze shifting to Mom, who has tears sliding down her cheeks.

“No, we’re not your real parents,” Dad responds and just like that, with those six simple words, my life changes.

Mom covers her mouth to quiet her sobs, but her shaky hands are not doing a good job because they escape anyway and fill the room.

I push myself up from the bed with every intention of stomping back and forth across the room, but the pain that shoots up into my groin reminds me to take it easy.

I walk up to my closed window and lean my arm against it. “So, where are my real parents?”

The silence that meets me switches my sadness to anger as I turn around to look at them. They both look at each other and Mom speaks first.

“Son, we don’t know. We adopted you from a children’s home in Accra. The owner didn’t know your birth mom because she…” Mom’s voice trails off and she covers her mouth again.

“She what?” I inch towards them before turning to Dad. “What did my birth mom do?”

Dad holds my gaze for a few seconds, sympathy heavy in his eyes. “She left you in front of the children’s home in a basket with a note. We don’t know who she is or whether she’s still alive.”

“And my dad?”

Dad shakes his head. “We don’t know who he is, son.”

Tears blur my vision and the room spins as I grab onto the wall to steady myself. Within a few seconds, Mom and Dad are by my side, guiding me back to bed.

“But why?” I ask when I’m sitting at the edge of my bed again. “Why did it take you twenty-one years to tell me this?” Tears flood out of my eyes. “Why did I have to find out like this?”

“Son, we wanted to tell you,” Dad says. “But we just didn’t know when the right time was.”

“Yes, he’s right,” Mom chips in as her voice breaks. “Your dad has always wanted us to tell you, but I wasn’t ready.” She wipes the tears in the corner of her eyes. “Your dad and I planned to have at least four children. We wanted to have so many children running all around our house.” She smiles through her tears.

“But every time we tried, I had a miscarriage. The doctors did tests and scans and they found nothing wrong with both of us. So before leaving Ghana, your father and I decided to adopt a child just in case we never had children of our own. God blessed us the day He gave you to us and I couldn’t bear the thought of ever losing you. So every time your dad brought up telling you, I convinced him we should wait longer.” She drops her head. “That’s why it has taken twenty-one years, son. I’m so sorry.”

My chest tightens as a lump builds in my throat. When I open my mouth to speak, pain shoots up my groin again and this time, I double over, clutching my side.

“I told you to rest. Now look at what you’re doing to yourself. Worentie me. ” Mom’s voice slowly fades in the background as they both help me get into bed again.

As I lay there, staring at the chandelier above me, everything starts to make sense. That’s why I don’t share any similar physical features with Mom and Dad. I wasn’t just imagining it. That’s why our blood types don’t match.

Kwame was right. My real parents are somewhere out there and I have no idea who they are. I close my eyes, and tears trickle down my cheeks when the reality of it hits me. I’ve been living a lie. Everything I’ve believed about my identity my entire life is a lie.