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**My name is Lily...**

And I’ve just uncovered the kind of secret that makes your bones go cold. The kind that could make your heart stop, the moment you hear it.

We were finally moving into our dream home. Mom and Dad had been saving up for quite a long time. The plans, the structure, the decorations, was at the top of our heads. We've always wanted a space of our own and now, it only felt right. At least, Dad is out of prison and the whole family is together. 

Finally, we've gotten it...our very own home.
The golden walls gleamed with fresh paint, and the tiles echoed with excitement as we raced from room to room. Laughter rings off from all corners, the sun poured in like honey through the windows, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt… whole.

Dad was back. Mary was humming a song from the kitchen. Mom was busy arranging the family portraits for the living room wall. It was perfect.

I should’ve been helping unpack. But I got distracted when I saw one of Mom’s old bookshelves. She always loved to read, a habit I picked up from her. I figured I’d surprise her by setting up her corner exactly how she’d want it. 

There was a small wooden box hidden under a pile of tattered novels, pushed deep into the back of a dusty drawer. It had a latch, no lock, just a tiny thing barely holding it shut.

I wish I had left it alone.
But I didn’t. I was even more curious to see if I would find something that would be of interest to me. And that, I did...except it was Mom's old journal and knowing what privacy means, I should've have stayed even a second looking at it, up till the point of opening it.
 
![](https://images.ecency.com/DQmYRtJydgMkP4n4Ni1LCG6qEWoEk3sN2pA2Mx1d6S15YKi/book_419589_1280.jpg)

Inside were worn journals tied together with a red ribbon. The ribbon had faded, but the words inside hadn’t. I could still read every word clearly, like I was the one who wrote it.

And that’s how I found out.

The first few entries were old memories, normal ones. About Dad, about me. Then there was a switch. A tremble in the handwriting. One so obvious that I could literally feel it from reading it. The entries became confessions.

She wrote about the trip. The 7-day girls trip. The one Dad had happily sponsored before he got framed and his world turned upside down. She had gone off to relax, to unwind, but somewhere during that trip, she had reconnected with her old high school lover.

*“It just happened,”* she had written.
*“He made me feel young again. Seen. And then, a few weeks later… I missed my period.”*

My breath caught in my throat. I closed the journal immediately, afraid that my fears would be confirmed. 

I wanted to scream, but I kept reading. Page after page, she poured out her guilt, her confusion. A month after, she returned from the trip, she was already pregnant, with Mary.

But Dad never knew.
He was excited. We were all excited.
I remember the balloons. The ones that said, **“Welcome Baby #2!”**

The cupcakes, the pink frosting.
The way Dad kissed Mom’s belly and said, *“I’ll protect this little girl with my life.”*

I remembered all of it.

And now I couldn’t unremember. I couldn't unread what I read even if I wanted to.

Mary. The one person who knows every version of me. The one I’ve cried to, danced with, fought with, laughed with. My sister. My person. My world.

And suddenly, she wasn’t Dad’s daughter.
Not biologically. But God help me, I couldn’t love her any less.

I thought that was the worst of it.
But the next volume of the journal had a different pain.

It started the night Dad was taken to prison.
I was only eleven, but I remember the sirens. The way Mom’s hands shook. The headlines calling him guilty, even when he was innocent.

She found out she was pregnant again that week.

Dad had known about the pregnancy before he was locked away. He had written letters from prison filled with hope, counting down the months till he’d meet his new baby.

But the pages of Mom’s journal said something else.

*“I told them she was stillborn,”* the entry said.
*“What else could I do? I had two girls to feed. Rent to pay. No job. No support. I sold her. I sold my baby.”
"I didn't want to, but I had no choice. It only felt right".*

I stopped breathing. The room suddenly started to spin. I was breathing heavily as I plopped on the floor.

She sold my sister.

A part of me wanted to throw the book across the room. Another part held it tighter, as if the answers would fall out and make it all better.

She had given away my sister. Lied to everyone. Even Dad, who blamed himself for the so-called stillbirth. He’d always whispered to me when he thought I was asleep, *“It should’ve been me. If I wasn’t in prison, she’d be alive…”*

But she was alive. Somewhere.

And Mom had carried that lie for years.

My tears soaked the corner of the journal. I hadn’t even noticed I was crying until I saw the ink bleeding under my fingertips.

I curled up in the corner of my room, our new home, our new beginning, and felt everything crumble under me.

How was I supposed to live with this?

I couldn’t tell Dad. Not now.
He had just come back. We had just rebuilt. He had Mary in his arms, loving her like nothing else mattered. And if he knew… if he found out Maya wasn’t his… and that he’d lost a daughter he never got to meet because of a lie?

It would shatter him.
And Mom.
And Mary.

The family I had finally gotten back would disappear.

I clutched the journal to my chest and sobbed. Quietly.

A knock.

I scrambled to wipe my face, push the journal under the pile of books, and force a smile.

Dad opened the door, stepped in, and saw me with red eyes and a trembling jaw.

*"Lily?”* he said softly, kneeling beside me. *“What’s wrong?”*

I paused.
Swallowed hard.

*“Nothing bad,”* I lied.
*“Just… I’m happy. That we’re all together. I’m just so happy, Dad.”*

His face softened, and without saying a word, he pulled me into the kind of hug you want to stay in forever.

*“I’ll never leave you,”* he whispered into my hair.
*“OrMary. Or your mom. Ever again.”*

And just like that, I broke again, this time quietly, in his arms.

Because I knew the truth.
I was the only one who did now, asides Mom. 
I still need more explanations from her. Where exactly is my sister? Who did she sell it to? Any hopes of getting her back?

But now, I just want to stay here, in my Dad's arm. One thing is for sure, I am not going to let my family fall apart again, even if it means carrying the heavy secret. I would carry it, no matter how heavy, if it meant keeping the family I loved… whole.


**My name is Lily...and this is my story.**

[Image Here](https://pixabay.com/photos/book-rose-book-mark-open-book-419589/)

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