Back at home, Jake kept the Same attitude in school, ignoring Maya. That night, Maya decided to ask Agnes why Jake was ignoring her. Agnes told her she didn’t know why Jake was ignoring her, and perhaps she should try asking Jake why. During their family meeting, Maya asked Jake why he was avoiding her. “ I don’t talk to non-Andersons like you, “ Jake said. “Behave well, young man, “ his dad shouted at him. Jake got angry and left the table, stormed into his room, and banged the door as usual. Maya was confused; she asked her parents why Jake said that and what was happening in the house. Why was everyone acting cold towards her?

Mrs. Anderson just told her it’s all in her head; she only feels that way because of how Jake behaves, ignores what is happening, and finishes her food. She later went to find Agnes to ask if she knew anything about what was happening in the house again. Agnes denied knowing anything and told her to brush it off. Maya was sad. Is Agnes, too, on their side? Is she going to sit there and watch her suffer? Maya asked herself as she shed tears in her room. She decided to be observant and see if anyone would leak any valuable information to her.

The following morning, they and Mrs. Anderson sat together silently, the weight of their decision heavy between them. After a long night of restless thoughts, tearful whispers, and decisions, they had come to a painful resolution: They needed to find their real son or daughter.

At first, they had wanted to ignore it, to keep Maya as their own and never look back. She was the child they had raised, the little girl who had called them “Mom” and “Dad” for ten beautiful years. But deep down in their heart, they both knew the truth ticking like a clock. So, for Maya’s sake, for her peace of mind and her own future, they had to find the woman who had brought her into this world and give her back what belongs to her.

By noon, their car pulled up right in front of the hospital where Maya had been born. The sight of the building brought back a rush of memories; it reminded them of the day Helen held her first baby girl, the tears, the joy, the celebration. But all of it is suddenly tainted by doubt.

Inside the hospital, the staff looked uneasy when Mr. Anderson spoke. “We need to see the delivery records from ten years ago,” he said firmly without breaking his stare at the Doctor’s face. “Specifically, the day our daughter was born.”

A nurse exchanged glances with the others around. “Sir, I’m afraid that won’t be easy or even possible. It’s been a decade, and many files are archived, incomplete, or even thrown away. It will take ages and a lot of time to track everything.”

Mr. Anderson’s tone suddenly hardened. “I don’t care how much time it takes or how much it’ll cost. Just find them, because it’s important .”

The staff hesitated for a moment. Then, realizing he meant every word he had just said, they began their search out of fear. Folders were pulled all around the hospital, files dusted off, and computer records opened. The humming of the old archive room filled the air as papers shuffled and printers clicked rapidly

After what felt like days, a nurse returned holding a stack of papers. “I found them,” she said. “It said here that ten births were recorded on the day Maya was delivered.”

Helen leaned backwards, her voice trembling. “Ten?”

The nurse nodded in affirmation. “Yes. Ten children, and some have parents from different nationalities. It means your search won’t be easy. You’ll have to contact families across borders, and there is also a possibility that they won’t be willing to talk to you or conduct the DNA tests you wish for.”

Silence covered the room.

Then another nurse walked out of nowhere and muttered, “Wait, but what if, what if the other child, your real son or daughter, isn’t alive anymore? What will you do ?”

Helen stood there frozen. The color drained from her face as she turned to look at her husband. His jaw tightened really quickly, and his eyes then got clouded with something between fear and determination.

Without saying a word, he took her hand, turned to the nurse, and said quietly, “Then we’ll still find the truth. No matter what it takes and no matter how far we go .”

He guided Helen toward the door; his voice was low but resolute. “Let’s go. We need to start searching now.”

As they stepped outside, the hospital doors closed behind them, shutting in the ghosts and shadows of a past they no longer understood, and opening the door to a painful, uncertain journey ahead with little hope of victory.

Mr. and Mrs. Anderson sat in the study that night, the desk covered in scattered papers with a list of ten mothers, each with a name, a hospital ID, and a contact number. The faint light of the lamp cast long shadows across the room as he picked up the phone and began to call them, one by one.

Most of the calls didn’t go well. Some women hung up when he mentioned the words hospital and DNA test. Others refused to talk, afraid of scams or old wounds being reopened. A few demanded proof before he said anything at all to them.