Who Am I?

Chapter 2: Who raises you is your parent.

My father had always been that, simply my father. I never called him dad, we just weren't that close. He was always more like a distant relative or an uncle that considered you as a burden. That's why I couldn't understand why would he leave me the house and everything inside. Oh and a postscript to look for a box in his closet. At least I had somewhere to begin.

I got up and went upstairs to his room, my friends following me while asking how was I, if I needed anything, how they could help and other things.

"I just need Anne to reach the top shelves for me. Could you?" I asked, when I opened his closet. It was more of a small room actually. She searched there and found a small brown box.

"Here, leave it on the floor." I told her and opened it to see what the fuss was about. One thing was certain in all this questionmarked-filled chaos, we didn't expect to find what we did in that box.
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"Darling, we're so sorry about all of it. We know you're going through a really rough time and we wanted you to know that we are all here for you, however we can.", Claire's mom said to me through the phone. She called to check how I was doing and if I needed anything. Overprotective just like her daughter. I considered Claire and Anne's moms the closest to mother I've ever had.

  "Thank you for calling, Mrs. K, there isn't anything you could do right now. If I need something, I'll let you know." I told her and I was quite sincere. There wasn't anything that anyone could do to this point. No one to help me. I was all alone. Me and the context of that stupid box.

The girls stayed at my home, so we decided to begin planning how we could use everything we had learned. If we were going to do this, we needed a plan.

First things first, my mother was never mentioned in my house, so the surprise to find a box containing information about her was pretty big. What was even more surprising though, was the fact that it contained information about me too. Information that had to do with my past and where I came from. Apparently, my father wasn't my real father. It's a fact that the people who raise you are your parents. My father however didn't exactly raise me, he just provided me with the necessities to survive. My biological father was from France. He had met my mother when she was a student there for some semesters. I didn't know much, but what I did know was that I had to meet that person and learn more things about him, my mother and myself.