The Truth Of Me

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ruth.</p><p id="7a59">I heard footsteps approaching, and I sat up, and there stood Connelly.</p><p id="7b43">“I know this is a lot to process, which is why we will take this one step at a time. Would you like to continue to look at the photobook?” He asked. I nodded my head. He sat on the ground beside me in his dress pants and a button-up shirt and placed the book on my lap. I took a deep breath and opened it.</p><p id="eedf">We sat there for hours, going through each photo in the book. I couldn’t control the tears that flooded my cheeks and stained the pajamas I was still wearing. Although I couldn’t remember any of the memories in the book, I felt like I knew the girl who had my face. I knew the mother and father who proudly smiled in every picture.</p><p id="c7f9">“I wish I could call the parents and ask if they knew about any of this,” I finally spoke and wiped my face with the back of my hand.</p><p id="60ab">“That’s the next truth, Crystal. Those people don’t exist. You were kidnapped,” Connelly said.</p><p id="c85e">Thank you for reading this series. Finish it with the next part The Truth Grows.”</p><div id="c631" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/the-truth-grows-33a1d2292da0"> <div> <div> <h2>The Truth Grows</h2> <div><h3>A life based on lies series</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*GHcXKrliuJ0vH5jX)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </d

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iv><p id="6243">This series was created from a prompt by an amazing prompt maker <a href="undefined">Christine Graves</a></p><p id="3db2">If you missed last week’s, check it out here:</p><div id="52d5" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/things-begin-to-unravel-f68a5438faae"> <div> <div> <h2>Things Begin to Unravel</h2> <div><h3>A Life Based on Lies Series</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*gsn8dB91I3-8ECLs)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="5dfa">If you’ve just started, then you’ll want to start here:</p><div id="3316" class="link-block"> <a href="https://readmedium.com/a-life-based-on-lies-ec84abdfa14a"> <div> <div> <h2>A Life Based on Lies</h2> <div><h3>The beginning</h3></div> <div><p>medium.com</p></div> </div> <div> <div style="background-image: url(https://miro.readmedium.com/v2/resize:fit:320/0*L442Wjjm_XVdKCEp)"></div> </div> </div> </a> </div><p id="54c3">Thank you for reading! If you haven’t joined Medium yet and want to read unlimited stories and support the writers, you can join <a href="https://medium.com/@SLSnow88/membership">here</a>. I do get a commission when you join. Thank you for being a reader. I am grateful for your support!</p></article></body>

A life based on lies series

I couldn’t breathe, and I felt lightheaded. Everything was spinning, and I needed to get out of that house. I shot up from the table and took off running. I didn’t know where. All I knew was I needed to find a door that led outside. After what seemed like forever, I found one and pushed it with all my strength.

I stumbled into the bright sun and walked until I couldn’t stay on my feet. I fell to my knees and then laid on my back. Once I could catch my breath, I noticed I was in a garden. I stared at the blue cloudless sky.

I couldn't believe what I had just seen. I didn’t want to believe what Connelly told me, but the photo was real. I couldn’t even bring myself to turn another page. The woman holding me in that picture looked exactly like me. Same brown eyes, same black curls, and the same smile. How was that possible?

If she is my mother, then why do I have memories as young as 5 of Christmas with my parents and vacations? I still remember high school and my first job. How is all that possible if I’m not who I was raised as? I just wanted to leave and never return. I didn’t care about the truth, but at the same time, I wanted the truth.

I heard footsteps approaching, and I sat up, and there stood Connelly.

“I know this is a lot to process, which is why we will take this one step at a time. Would you like to continue to look at the photobook?” He asked. I nodded my head. He sat on the ground beside me in his dress pants and a button-up shirt and placed the book on my lap. I took a deep breath and opened it.

We sat there for hours, going through each photo in the book. I couldn’t control the tears that flooded my cheeks and stained the pajamas I was still wearing. Although I couldn’t remember any of the memories in the book, I felt like I knew the girl who had my face. I knew the mother and father who proudly smiled in every picture.

“I wish I could call the parents and ask if they knew about any of this,” I finally spoke and wiped my face with the back of my hand.

“That’s the next truth, Crystal. Those people don’t exist. You were kidnapped,” Connelly said.

Thank you for reading this series. Finish it with the next part The Truth Grows.”

This series was created from a prompt by an amazing prompt maker Christine Graves

If you missed last week’s, check it out here:

If you’ve just started, then you’ll want to start here:

Thank you for reading! If you haven’t joined Medium yet and want to read unlimited stories and support the writers, you can join here. I do get a commission when you join. Thank you for being a reader. I am grateful for your support!