July 18th 1995

Dear diary,

It has been a very long time since I last wrote an entry and that is because there has not been much to tell. Business was a bit slow but everything is back to normal now.

I am filled with so much excitement as I write that I can hardly keep still.

My granddaughter came home today!

She has the most piercing, beautiful cobalt blue eyes and the tinniest feet imaginable.

She is a bit underweight for her age but the doctor said that that is to be expected and not to worry because with the right amount of care, she will make up for it in no time at all.

Francesca and Alfredo finally came to a decision concerning the entire parenting affair and decided to give their only possible option a chance.

It took almost five months to get the paper work sorted out we are so glad to finally have baby Emma with us.

She was adopted from a little lady in New Jersey who wasn't ready to raise a family. Oh diary, you do not know how glad I am that we went through with this.

My daughter is beside herself with joy and Alfredo can barely take his eyes off of her.

I have already arranged for one of the guest bedroom to be converted into a little haven for our darling princess. I cannot wait until she is old enough to have sleep overs with her dearest grandfather!

I only wish Portia could have met her. Oh how she would have loved her.

✨✨✨✨

A sliver of ice lodges itself in my heart as I sit staring blankly at the wall. Restless, I pick up the piece of writing lying limply on the bed. I unfold it neatly, reading the words over and over again

I try translating those same words several different times to make sure that I am not mistaken; I haven't done it wrong.

This cannot be. I cannot be adopted.

None of it makes any sense.

I mean, they would have told me, right?

My parents were honest people and they would never keep the truth away from me. Ever

They would have told me.

A wave of fear washes over me as I pull on a change of clothes, resolving to get to the bottom of the matter. I pad noiselessly down the stairs, stopping for a quick drink in the kitchen as my throat feels patched. After rinsing off the glass in the sink, I mindlessly reach for the keys I know will be dangling off the dark oak wood key station beside the door before stepping out.

The roads are clear of traffic so I make it to my house in good time. It feels strange being here again after so long but I shake off the feeling off and head inside. Everything looks exactly the way I left it and somehow this recognition shocks me. It's almost as though I expected my house to be broken into and sabotaged in my absence. 

Cautiously, I make my way up the stairs, stopping momentarily on the landing to switch on the lights before making my way into my parents' bedroom. It's the first time I have been in here since their funeral and an unwelcome feeling of nostalgia envelopes me as I take in the impressive king sized bed dressed to perfection in black gingham beddings; the top half of it suffocating under a massive array of pillows and cushions.

My mother really loved her cushions.

Remembering my reason for being there, I march towards my mum's walk in closet and begin my search through piles and piles of documents. She dedicated a whole section of cabinets to her important documents. She also decided to throw in a mix of receipts, the half of which are probably from before I had even started high school. It was one of her things, you know, keeping track of her purchases.

It takes a while but I finally find the file I'm looking for. It's one of those plastic coloured ones and it has most of my details inside. Tentatively, I open it up, spilling the contents on the plush carpet.

A ball of nervous energy twists and bounces around in my innards as I search for my birth certificate. When I find it, a feeling of confusion fogs my mind. It does not look any different to what I know now. It has all the information of my parents and myself as I know them to be.

Maybe granddad was talking about something else?

I make to put the documents back into their folder but the perfectionist in me ensures that I begin to re-arrange them in ascending order of size first. One of them catches my hand and draws blood. I press down on it for a second before going back to sorting out the contents of my file. The first line of the document catches my eye and I freeze.

It is an adoption certificate.

A horrible feeling of dread takes hold of my heart as I faintly recall aunt Fia's words what feels like a hundred different lifetimes ago.

"I don't know how but you actually look like her." She had said.

Is this perhaps what she meant?

Has she known all along?

It certainly would be out of character for granddad to lie about this wouldn't it? And to what end?

I pull out the certificate, reading the words that I now know to be true. They tear at my heart as a frightful heaviness overtakes my bones and I struggle to rearrange my thoughts. My heart is racing as though I am the lead character in some psychological thriller and the murderer is just about to get me. I scream and I cry, then I pause for a moment taking in a deep breath. The word seems to have stilled; everything except this little bit of my surrounding which appears to be spinning out of control.

Unconsciously, I return the folder to its place and head back into the room, my eyes sweeping the entire length of it as though seeing it for the very first time. I make for their dresser, picking up a bottle of my Dad's cologne and spritzing it mindlessly, letting the familiar scent wrap around me as I kiss the age long photo which sits just beside the mirror. It's a beautiful portrait of my parents on their wedding day; dad in a smart, black tuxedo and my mother in a flattering strapless dress which accentuates her curves.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I whisper softly at their smiling faces. "I miss you."

Baby tears dance lazily at the edge of my eyes and my vision begins to blur as I let myself weep in an attempt to ease the feelings of betrayal which threaten to overtake me. I try to tell myself that they must have all had their reasons.

My biological parents must have had her reasons for giving me away. And my family, they must have had their reasons for keeping it a secret too. It must have been for my own good.

I try to convince myself that being adopted does not change the fact that I am theirs. It does not take away any of my precious memories of the life that we had. My heart understands these things to be true but my mind is saying that that life was a lie. Everything that I know to be true about myself could all potentially be lies as well.

I put the photo back on the dresser and recap my father's cologne. I do not know how to feel about any of it.

I am adopted.

I am Emmanuela Domenico.

I am the daughter of Francesca and Alfredo Domenico.

I am...