I Helped a Lost Grandmother on My Night Shift – the Next Morning, Her Daughter Handed Me a Shoebox and Said, ‘This Is Going to Change Your Life’

Most had RETURN TO SENDER stamped on them. A few were sealed but never mailed.

“My mom had a son before me,” Tara said.

“Nobody talks about him. I thought maybe he had died or had been taken away; I didn’t know. I only knew there was… something.”

She swallowed.

“I got these files by ‘mistake,’” she went on.

“They shouldn’t have been in my packet. They only got to me because the state messed up. Again.”

She met my eyes.

“I’m not saying you’re him,” she said.

“That would be insane. But you said you were adopted. You look like you’re about the right age.

Last night, she called you ‘Cal’ before you even gave your name. And these records—” she tapped the folder “—don’t belong with my paperwork unless something is really crossed. So something just feels weird.”

I stared at the intake sheet.

The name “Caleb” looked foreign and familiar at the same time, like a word from a language I used to know.

I did what a normal, semi-functional adult was supposed to do in that moment.

I denied everything.

“It’s a coincidence,” I said.

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