After graduating from the Faculty of Psychology, I did not work in my field. Instead, I withdrew into an apartment on the outskirts of the city, far from the noise. Even though I had passed the age of thirty, I had never married, never thought about marriage, and never entered into a relationship with a man. I lived a quiet, independent life, almost without a family.
I spent my time reading books, and writing sometimes when I felt bored. I practiced yoga and listened to calm music.
I believed that I was born only once, on a pale morning of a winter I do not remember.
That is what my mother always said:
"You came into the world crying, but you fell silent quickly… as if you realized that crying would change nothing."
I never doubted the story. My birth was an ordinary event in a city that does not remember the names of its children for long.
Until the first letter arrived…
I received proof that I might have survived twice.
On a sunny day, I went out to buy some things, and when I returned, I found an envelope at the door of the apartment, pale yellow in color. I bent down and picked it up. On it was a signature in a childish handwriting:
"Your daughter who was never born."
I opened it slowly and found inside a paper that smelled as if it were burned, written in the same handwriting:
"You lived in my place."
I went inside and sat in the living room, staring at the paper for a long time.
I had never been a mother. I had never been pregnant, never miscarried, and never planned for a child. I lived a precisely ordered life, without surprises. My work in translation filled my days, and my calm filled the night.
There was no room in my life for a letter accusing me of survival.
Was this a joke? Or what?
I left it on the table, convinced that the mailman had made a mistake.
The day continued as usual, between reading and writing, until night came and I slept.
That night, I dreamed of a white room filled with the smell of smoke. A row of small beds, and muffled crying sounds. I was searching for something I could not see, yet I knew at the same time that it was me.
When I woke up, there was light ash on the edge of the window…
Even though my window had not been opened all night.
I approached it and touched the ash with the tip of my finger…
It was warm, as if it had not cooled yet.
I heard the doorbell. I went to open it, but I found no one. There was only a new envelope.
I picked it up slowly and went back inside. Inside was the same burned paper, in the same childish handwriting:
"You let me die… die alone."
I was shocked as I read the rest of the letter:
"Do you remember in fifth grade when you stole money from your grandmother on your birthday?"
My veins froze, and all sounds disappeared except for the beating of my heart.
No one knows about this… except me.
With the paper, there was also a necklace with my initial, a gift from my mother on my birthday, which I had lost months after receiving it.
Maybe someone is watching me…
More than that… maybe someone is living near me without me knowing.
I left the apartment to get some air. I sat in a nearby café, watching the building, trying to see if anyone approached my apartment door.
I stayed for long hours… and saw no one.
When I returned, I found a third envelope at the door.
I stood confused.
Should I pick it up or leave it?
But my curiosity was stronger. I took it and went inside.
I sat on the bed and placed it in front of me. I opened a book to distract myself, but my mind was occupied with what might be inside the envelope.
I couldn't resist.
I opened it.
There were two papers.
The first was a written message, this time in clearer handwriting:
"I left life without having a name… the name that is yours."
I turned the paper over and found written:
"Do you still remember the beginning of your high school days, when you started smoking without your family knowing?"
I stared at the paper for a long time…
Then at the pack of cigarettes on the table.
I took one… and lit it.
I took the second paper.
It was a clipping from an old newspaper, talking about a fire that broke out in the same hospital where I was born, on the exact same date.
"A fire in the newborns' ward.
The death of a large number of infants…
And the strangest thing is that some of their bodies were never found."
I began connecting the threads in my mind.
Did I have a twin sister?
Was I replaced by another child?
Before I put out the cigarette, I noticed something strange…
The ash falling from it was the same color as the ash I found on the window in the morning.
Questions piled up in my head until I felt dizzy. My body trembled and I lay down on the bed. I put the headphones in my ears and let the calm music ease the pressure crushing my chest.
I must have dozed off.
I saw a distorted and disturbing nightmare. I did not understand its details, but I woke up terrified.
Thirst burned my throat.
I reached for the glass to drink water, and my eyes fell again on the newspaper clipping.
At that moment, I made my decision.
I will go to my mother…
She must know the truth.
At noon, I took the newspaper clipping and left.
My mother lived in the city center, in the same house where I grew up… the house that holds all my memories… the false ones.