I was walking home with my groceries one cold October afternoon when I saw a little girl crying over a scraped knee next to her overturned bike. I dropped my bags and ran toward her when I heard the faraway roar of an approaching engine. I grabbed her just in time as a car sped around the corner and barely missed us. She held on to me and cried out in pain and fear. Her name was Evie.
After I calmed her down, I asked her where she lived, and she led me to a big house with big iron fences. Vivienne, Evie’s grandma, opened the door and rushed to hug her, clearly feeling better. While she was taking care of Evie’s knee, Vivienne asked me in for tea. With its old furniture and pictures on the walls, the mansion was a beautiful holdover from another time.
While Evie played, I saw a picture in a black frame of a guy who looked a lot like me. It gave me chills. When I asked Vivienne about him, she said it was her brother Henry, who had gone missing fifty years ago for no clear reason. She was interested and suggested that we get a DNA test to see if there was a link.
After two weeks, the test results showed that Henry was indeed my father. I had stumbled into my family background by accident. I became a part of Vivienne and Evie’s lives when I accepted this new link. I learned that family ties can show up in the strangest ways.
