They Told Everyone I Was Adopted, I Was Their Real Daughter Chapter 01
At the sales office, my parents added my sister Zoe Gray’s name to the new house deed.
The clerk checked the paperwork and glanced at me. “Should we put this young lady’s name on it too?”
Mom didn’t even look up. “No. She’s adopted.”
I froze. I couldn’t speak.
Ever since Zoe came back, I—the biological daughter—had become the family’s unwanted outsider. Because Zoe said she was supposed to be the only daughter. Any mention of me being blood-related would send her into hysterics, a hunger strike, a breakdown.
So people started saying: “The Gray family only has one real daughter. The younger one’s adopted.”
At first, I tried to correct them. I’d open my mouth—but my parents would cut me off before I could get a word out. “It’s nothing. Why do you have to keep dragging it up?”
Then the day came when I was admitted to the Northwest Research Institute. The security clearance officer came to our house.
“May I ask how Gia is related to you?”
Mom spoke up first, her tone perfectly casual: “Oh, she’s the one we adopted.”
I stared at her.
I finished the interview. Then I went to the county clerk’s office and formally separated my records from theirs.
From that day on, I stopped forcing myself to be the “adopted daughter” they’d made me into.
***
The officer looked at the file again, then at me, then at them. “According to our records, Gia is not your adopted daughter. She’s your biological daughter.”
Behind me, Zoe’s friend whispered, “Zoe, you said you were an only child.”
Zoe shot Mom a panicked look. Mom gave her a reassuring look and said, “No, she’s adopted. I only gave birth to Zoe. What’s on paper can’t always be trusted.”
I was shaking. I stared at my mother, my voice barely holding together. “Mom, this is a security clearance. It’s important. How can you just lie like that?”
She didn’t flinch. She held her ground like she was telling the truth.
I turned to my father. “Dad!”
He cleared his throat, then casually took her side. “Your mother’s right.”
The officer hesitated, visibly troubled. “I’ll ask one more time. Are you sure Gia is adopted?”
Mom put down her teacup and nodded. “She’s always been sensitive about it. Never liked people knowing she wasn’t one of us. Wouldn’t surprise me if she changed the records herself.”
The officer quietly studied the family portrait on the wall—three people, just three—and the figurines on the table, also three. Then he stood and said calmly, “Ms. Gray, due to inconsistencies in your paperwork, the security clearance process is suspended pending further review.”
I felt the floor drop out from under me.
I don’t remember them leaving. Before I could even catch my breath, they shoved a broom into my hand. “What are you standing there for? Mop the floor. Look how filthy it is.”
Zoe was on the couch, legs crossed, scrolling her phone, relieved her lie hadn’t been caught.
I threw the broom down. “Why did you lie to them? You know how much this matters to me!”
Dad snapped, “What’s all this shouting about? Where are your manners?”
Mom slammed her teacup down. “What’s the big deal? You can just do the clearance again when no one’s around. Zoe’s friends are still here—if they find out, how is she supposed to hold her head up?”
Always the same. Zoe always came first. Even my future had to bend for her.
I remembered the time my homeroom teacher came for a home visit and said we sisters looked alike. Zoe burst into tears on the spot. Mom glared at me—like it was my fault—and announced, “No. She’s adopted. Zoe is my real daughter.”
Later, the teacher repeated it to the whole class. “Gia, with grades like yours, you might want to be careful. Your adoptive parents might not want you anymore.”
All those eyes on me. I still remember that shame.
I started to walk back to my room. Dad called after me. “What organization did you apply to? Any chance to fix the clearance?”
“Northwest Rocket—”
Zoe cut me off: “Mom! Dad! I got third place in the scholarship! Six hundred dollars!”
Dad transferred her five thousand dollars without a word. Mom kissed her cheek and posted it on social media.
Mom: [Look at my brilliant daughter.]
I looked down.
Last year, I was the only one in my department to get the National Scholarship. I couldn’t wait to tell them. They glanced at it, annoyed, and waved me away—they were busy framing Zoe’s “Outstanding Dorm Leader” certificate.
They went out to celebrate. Dad booked a private room at a Michelin restaurant. Zoe’s favorite spot.
No one asked if I wanted to come.
The door closed behind them, leaving only the table I’d spent all morning preparing. BBQ ribs for Zoe. Grilled salmon for Dad. Herbal soup for Mom.
Nothing spicy. Because Zoe couldn’t handle it.
Going upstairs, I tripped over a pair of slippers two sizes too big. Mom’s castoffs. I live on campus, so they never keep a pair for me at home. But Zoe has a dozen pairs of designer Crocs in the shoe rack alone.
I don’t need designer. I just need a pair that fits. Nine ninety-nine. That’s all. They couldn’t even spare that.
I walked barefoot to my room, opened my suitcase, and started packing. My university advisor called. “Gia, what went wrong with your clearance? Your file is flawless.”
My throat tightened. I told her everything.
She listened, then sighed, gentle and kind. “Don’t worry. You’re a good student. This isn’t a deal-breaker. I’ll pull some strings if I have to.”
I mumbled a thank-you and hung up. The tears came then, hot and fast.
Everyone—even people who barely knew me—practiced the clearance process a dozen times. Afraid one wrong word could tank my future. But my own parents couldn’t be bothered.
I opened my phone and booked a one-way flight to the Northwest. A week from now.
