My father had one final request before he died.
His lawyer repeated it word for word.
"Don't open the safe until one year has passed."
No explanation.
No clues.
Just a date.
For twelve months, I fought the temptation.
Every day I wondered what could be so important that he wanted me to wait.
Finally...
The day arrived.
I drove to the lawyer's office.
He placed the key in my hand.
Neither of us spoke.
The safe door slowly opened.
Inside wasn't cash.
Not jewelry.
Not a will.
There was only one sealed envelope.
My name.
My father's handwriting.
My hands shook as I opened it.
The first sentence made my blood run cold.
"Everything you believed about your mother is wrong."
I stopped breathing.
Under the letter...
There was an old photograph.
My mother.
Standing beside a man I had never seen before.
Behind it...
A birth certificate.
Not mine.
Then another.
And another.
Three children.
None of the names were familiar.
My heart pounded.
Who were they?
Why had my father hidden this?
At the very bottom of the safe...
One final note waited.
Just six words.
"Go to Maple Street. House 18."