Whispers of the Past

Chapter Twenty Nine - A Journey for Identity

THIRD PERSON'S POV:

Atiye clutched the boarding pass, the flimsy paper feeling heavy with anticipation and trepidation. England, the land of her supposed parents, loomed close. Timothee's hand in hers felt warm and reassuring, a silent anchor in the churning sea of emotions within her.

The revelation of Amaya being her sister had been a seismic shift, leaving a crater of questions in its wake. Why? Why her, abandoned and left in the dark, while Amaya was whisked away? Who was her father, a ghost in her family photo album? These questions gnawed at her, demanding answers.

As the plane soared above the clouds, Atiye replayed Timothee's assurances. He had been patient, supportive, his love a constant despite the storm brewing within her. He wouldn't be there physically, work commitments keeping him at bay, but the echo of his presence lingered in the familiar scent of his cologne on her scarf and the promise of a video call before the meeting.

Landing in London felt like stepping into a different world, the crisp air and bustling streets far removed from the sun-drenched familiarity of home. The grand old house where Mr. and Mrs. Young resided, arranged by Timothee's discreet inquiries, exuded an air of wealth and privilege, a stark contrast to Atiye's childhood memories.

Nerves gnawed at her insides as she was ushered into a luxuriously furnished living room. Mr. Young, silver hair neatly combed, offered a handshake that felt as cold as the English weather. Mrs. Young, impeccably dressed, had a practiced smile that didn't reach her eyes.

The initial greetings were strained, polite conversation a thin veil over the elephant in the room. Finally, Atiye gathered her courage. "Why?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Why did you leave me? Why did you take Amaya and not me?"

The question hung heavy in the air, shattering the fragile pretense. Mr. Young looked away, his jaw clenching. Mrs. Young's smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of pain. It was then that Atiye noticed a framed photo on the mantelpiece – a younger version of them, holding two smiling girls, one with Amaya, long golden hair, the other with golden bob- must be Peri.

"It wasn't a choice," Mrs. Young whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Anya..." she choked on the name, "...needed specialized care, a treatment unavailable in Turkey. We had to take her, for her survival."

Anya? So, Amaya wasn't her real name? More questions swirled in Atiye's mind, forming a tangled web of deceit and pain. But before she could delve deeper, another bombshell dropped.

"And your father," Mr. Young said, his voice gruff, "he wasn't part of the picture. Not someone worthy of knowing."

Peri, their younger daughter, entered the room then, her bright smile fading as she took in the tense atmosphere. The air crackled with unspoken secrets, old wounds reopened. Atiye, overwhelmed by the revelation and the hostile reception, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

The journey to England in search of answers had started with hope, but now, in the face of cold stares and guarded truths, it felt like she had stepped into a minefield. Yet, even amidst the pain, a flicker of determination burned within her. She wouldn't leave empty-handed. This was just the beginning. The truth, however painful, was hers to discover, and she wouldn't stop until she found it.

The revelation hung heavy in the air, acrid and suffocating. Anya. Not Amaya. A mere phantom, banished under the guise of "special care" while Atiye, deemed unworthy, languished in the shadows. But why? The question echoed in the opulent room, bouncing off the polished surfaces and finding no solace.

Mrs. Young's voice, laced with practiced sorrow, painted a picture of sacrifice and desperation. "Anya needed... specialized treatment," she choked out, her eyes avoiding Atiye's probing gaze. "We had to choose, darling. And we chose her survival."

It was a white lie! Timothee knew Amaya, they both loved each other. Timothee would know if it was the truth!  And, Survival? The word tasted bitter on Atiye's tongue. Survival over existence, over love. It reeked of selfishness, of a twisted version of motherhood. Anger simmered within her, fueled by the coldness in Mrs. Young's eyes, eyes that held no remorse, only a flicker of something darker, something akin to… fear?

"And what happened to Anya?" Atiye demanded, her voice tight with controlled fury.

Mr. Young shifted uncomfortably, his gaze darting away. "A… a tragic accident, she's no more.." he mumbled, the words barely audible. "A family trip, a… car crash."

Car crash? Atiye scoffed. The convenient narrative reeked of a carefully constructed lie. Why only Anya? How convenient for them to be spared the tragedy. Doubt, a seed already planted, blossomed into suspicion.

Peri, the younger daughter, sat silent, her gaze flitting between Atiye and her parents. A flicker of unease crossed her face, a telltale sign that the "accident" story wasn't as solid as they portrayed.

Mrs. Young, sensing the shift in power, switched tactics. Her voice, now laced with honeyed sweetness, dripped with condescension. "You don't understand, darling. You were too young, too fragile for such hardships."

Too young to understand ? The sentence felt like a slap. Was being erased, abandoned, left for being abused, was nothing to them! Her heart hardened further, the warmth of Timothee's love a distant memory in the face of this chilling revelation.

Silence descended, thick and suffocating. Then, Mrs. Young's mask slipped, revealing a glimpse of the truth. Her voice, stripped of its practiced sweetness, hissed with barely contained hatred. "You were a mistake, Atiye. A constant reminder of my mistake, a betrayal, that filth. We did what we had to do."

Betrayal? Filth! Mistake! Atiye's breath hitched. Who was he? This mysterious father, painted as a villain, deemed unworthy of even mentioning his name. And why did his existence evoke such hatred in her mother?

The words echoed in Atiye's mind, forming a warped puzzle picture. She wasn't just abandoned, she was ostracized, deemed an embodiment of sin.

But a new question gnawed at her. Why keep her existence a secret, even after Anya's supposed demise? Why not reach out, explain, apologize?

Then, Peri, tears glistening in her eyes, whispered, "They feared, Atiye. Whispers of curses, bad luck… they said to me that you brought misfortune."

Fear. Does it even explained their silence, their cruelty? These explainations didn't erase the pain. A chasm of unanswered questions remained on Atiye's mind.

Driven by a newfound defiance, she decided to take matters into her own hands. She would seek out her father, though the man deemed unworthy, but what if they are jyst trying to potray him like this? Perhaps he held another piece of the puzzle, another perspective on the past. She wouldn't let fear and shame dictate her story any longer.

But before she could leave, Mrs. Young's cold voice stopped her. "Don't you dare contact him, Atiye. He's nothing but trouble."

Atiye's eyes narrowed. Her mother's fear only fueled her resolve. This journey wasn't just about uncovering the truth, it was about reclaiming her identity, tearing down the walls of lies and hatred that had imprisoned her for so long. She wouldn't rest until she exposed the venom beneath the carefully constructed facade, until she understood the true tragedy that had unfolded, not the convenient narrative they presented.