Christmas Eve had always felt heavy, like an unresolved storm. After my shift, I slid into the back seat of a taxi, exhaustion pulling me under. I closed my eyes, but when I woke, I wasn’t home—I was in an unfamiliar, cold room. And my life was about to change forever.
The ER was as hectic as ever, but tonight, I couldn’t stop thinking about what awaited me at home—Jeremy, my boyfriend of four years. He had called earlier, his voice full of excitement.
“Hey, you done yet? The tree’s up, cider’s on, and I even put on that ugly sweater you always tease me about. Wait ‘til you see it!”
I laughed, trying to match his cheer. Jeremy loved Christmas—it was in his blood. For me, though, Christmas had always been bittersweet. Growing up in an orphanage, I never knew my father and lost my mother too early to have memories of her.
A yellow cab pulled up. “Megan?” the driver asked.
“That’s me,” I murmured, sinking into the seat, trying to rest.
When I woke, the world had shifted. The car was parked in an unfamiliar, abandoned garage. Panic gripped me as I realized the driver was nowhere in sight.
“Hello?” I called, my voice echoing through the stillness. My hands fumbled for my phone, but it was gone. A door creaked open, and a man stepped inside.
“Megan Price?” he asked.
My heart raced. “How do you know my name?”
“I need you to come with me,” he said, his voice calm but urgent. “There’s something you need to know.”
I laughed, though it came out bitter. “Is this some sort of joke? A kidnapping?”
He sighed. “It wasn’t my idea. Your boyfriend set this up.”
“Jeremy?” Confusion bubbled into anger. “What are you talking about? Where is he?”
The man hesitated. “I’m your father.”
The words hit me like a wave. I had wondered, imagined, what my father might be like, but hearing them—hearing it from him—made it real in a way I wasn’t ready for. “No,” I whispered, stepping back. “You’re lying.”
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