May 12th, 2019

I do not even know where to start today but to make a long story even longer.

On 4/12/19, I randomly ordered a 23and Me test to finally learn my ethnicity. I had little hope of learning much else, but to say the least, I was very wrong.

On 5/5/19, I received my reports from the lab. I happen to have a First cousin once removed that I connected with on the account, which was clearly from my unknown side of the family, and my research began.

On 5/8/19, I reached out to my little cousin T.S., specifically the estranged child of my mother’s adopted brother. I had not spoken to her since I lived in Topeka, Kansas, almost a decade prior. Her father (my uncle) told me once that he knew who my biological father was and would tell me someday.

However, he forbade me from mentioning it to my mother and threatened that he would never tell me what I wanted to know if I did. Of course, I was curious, and also, I was 18 years old and had just been told, by a man I hated, that my mother had been lying to me my entire life.

So, I, of course, approached my mother with the subject. The conversation caused distress and taught me nothing. I explained this to my little cousin, and she reached out to her father, even though their relationship was on rocky terms.

My uncle called me and told me every sweet thing a grieving and hopeful niece needs to hear and then spit out two names, brother’s nonetheless, and told me he was sure one of them was my father.

I tracked them down by name and found they had one mutual family member who utilizes social media. Neither of them did, which led me down a path of unfriendly assumptions. This joint family member was identified as their aunt through posts. This aunt of theirs happened to have a mutual friend with me, so I reached out to my friend, and he was all too excited to get involved and help me track down this enigma that is my father.

However, I figured it was a long shot; either my mother knew and lied to me for 22 years, allowing me to believe I was conceived by force, or my felonious uncle was sending me on a wild goose chase. I chose not to get my hopes up.

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