I clocked out of Denver Health later than expected, after the kind of exhausting night that made every step feel heavier than the last. The automatic doors slid shut behind me as the cold Colorado air rushed in, sharp enough to sting the skin beneath my scrubs. It was 2:17 in the morning in Denver, and the parking lot looked washed out under the harsh yellow lamps, the thin dusting of snow reflecting the light in patchy silver.
I dug through my bag for my keys, already dreaming of the quiet of my apartment and the relief of hot water on my sore shoulders.
My breath curled into faint clouds as I walked toward my old Subaru, listening to the distant hum of the hospital generators and the muted beeps from inside the Emergency Room of a very American hospital I knew too well.
That was when I heard it—a voice I had not heard in more than two decades.
My name, spoken softly but edged like a blade.
“Emily.”
I froze.
The sound cut through the cold more sharply than the wind.
I turned slowly, my chest tightening until it hurt. Standing at the front of my car was Linda, my biological mother, wrapped in a coat too thin for the Colorado winter night.
Her posture was rigid, her expression unreadable in a way that made my stomach twist.
Next to her stood Thomas—my father by blood and nothing else—arms crossed as if he were waiting for someone to explain why this meeting mattered.
A few feet behind him, leaning against a light pole with a smirk that had not changed since childhood, was Kyle, my older brother. The one they kept when they abandoned me at ten years old in Fort Collins, Colorado.
My fingers tightened around my keys.
For a moment, I could not move or speak.
Twenty-four years without a word, and suddenly they were all here, standing between me and my car like ghosts that had clawed their way out of the past.
Linda stepped closer, the snow crunching under her boots.
Her voice carried clearly through the empty lot. “We left you because you were useless.
Kyle was the child worth keeping.”
Her words sliced through the air, and I felt something inside me jolt—a shock so deep it made the smokers near the ambulance bay turn their heads.
Before I could respond, Thomas tossed an envelope at my feet. It landed on the snow with a dull flap.
“Sign these,” he said flatly.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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