Come Back to Me
Not where I belong
I can't breath. No, it can't be true..... No way. I hear mom heading downstairs, I quickly tuck the letter away in my pocket. She comes in with a basket in her hands full of washing.
"So what are you getting up to today then?" She asks as she loads the washing machine.
"Not a lot. I'm off work for 2 weeks. Just, relaxing really." I say calmly.
"Relaxing?" She looks up at me, curiously. "Don't you have a man you can take care of?"
And then it hits me. She can't be my mom. We don't look alike, we don't think alike, we have different outlooks on life and different perspectives. But she is very old fashioned, I suppose that could be why. I'm just trying to convince myself now.
"Do you mind if I head up to the attic? I have a school reunion coming up and I want to grab some old photographs." I lie.
"There is one box named photographs, try that. That's all we have, leave the other boxes alone. You can give the loft a good clean while you're up there too!
When I get up the attic it smells stale and dusty. I'm surprised she hasn't kept it tidy. Around me are piles of boxes labelled clothes, equipment, toys, photos. I don't see any suspicious boxes. I take one box named photographs and snoop through. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual family photos. Another box says paperwork. I'll look through that, it may have some clues. As I dig through the box of paperwork, I see a newspaper article underneath a pile of rubbish. Slowly I take it out, it looks fragile. Suddenly I can't breath again. The headline says 'BABY KIDNAPPED AFTER BIRTH'. I read underneath the headline.
'Yesterday morning Diane swanson gave birth to twins named Ciara and Tom. Ciara was taken in the early hours of 07:00 from the maternity wing. Searches have taken place in the hospital,witnesses are being questions and police are looking at CCTV footage to identity the kidnapper'.
I touch my throat, trying to force myself to breath. I've never had panic attacks like this. I go through more stuff, finding even more articles about it. It's true, I'm not where I belong.
"So what are you getting up to today then?" She asks as she loads the washing machine.
"Not a lot. I'm off work for 2 weeks. Just, relaxing really." I say calmly.
"Relaxing?" She looks up at me, curiously. "Don't you have a man you can take care of?"
And then it hits me. She can't be my mom. We don't look alike, we don't think alike, we have different outlooks on life and different perspectives. But she is very old fashioned, I suppose that could be why. I'm just trying to convince myself now.
"Do you mind if I head up to the attic? I have a school reunion coming up and I want to grab some old photographs." I lie.
"There is one box named photographs, try that. That's all we have, leave the other boxes alone. You can give the loft a good clean while you're up there too!
When I get up the attic it smells stale and dusty. I'm surprised she hasn't kept it tidy. Around me are piles of boxes labelled clothes, equipment, toys, photos. I don't see any suspicious boxes. I take one box named photographs and snoop through. Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual family photos. Another box says paperwork. I'll look through that, it may have some clues. As I dig through the box of paperwork, I see a newspaper article underneath a pile of rubbish. Slowly I take it out, it looks fragile. Suddenly I can't breath again. The headline says 'BABY KIDNAPPED AFTER BIRTH'. I read underneath the headline.
'Yesterday morning Diane swanson gave birth to twins named Ciara and Tom. Ciara was taken in the early hours of 07:00 from the maternity wing. Searches have taken place in the hospital,witnesses are being questions and police are looking at CCTV footage to identity the kidnapper'.
I touch my throat, trying to force myself to breath. I've never had panic attacks like this. I go through more stuff, finding even more articles about it. It's true, I'm not where I belong.