When Emma stumbled upon a Facebook post from a young woman searching for her mother, she was stunned. The stranger’s face was hers, but decades younger. Emma had never been pregnant, had never given birth. So why did this girl look so much like her? What secret had been buried all these years?
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I always thought my life at 48 was perfectly normal. Maybe a little boring, but perfectly normal nonetheless.
My routine was perfectly honed. I wake up at six o’clock, feed Biscuit, my golden retriever, make coffee, and head to my job at the Cedar Falls Public Library. I come home, walk Biscuit, make dinner, settle into my worn armchair with a cup of chamomile tea, and scroll through Facebook until my eyes grow heavy.
It wasn’t exciting, but it was mine.
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I never got married and I never had children. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to. It’s just that life never wanted it, you know? The right person never came along, and before I knew it, I was in my forties and perfectly content with my quiet life.
So there I was, on a Tuesday evening, mindlessly scrolling through my news feed. Biscuit was snoring at my feet, his paws twitching as he dreamed. I was half-watching a cooking video when a post stopped me in my tracks.
It was the face of a young woman staring at me from the screen. My thumb froze in the middle of the scroll.
She looked exactly like me.
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Not “a little similar” or “the same general vibe.” I’m talking about a carbon copy. It was as if someone had taken a picture of me at 25 and posted it online. Straight, sandy-colored hair falling just behind her shoulders. A gentle smile with a slight gap between her front teeth. The same wire-framed glasses I wore in my twenties. Even the same little dimple on her right cheek that only appeared when she smiled a certain way.
Underneath her photo was a caption that made my heart leap. It read: “I’m looking for my mother. All I know is that she lived in Iowa in the late 90s. Please share if you know anything.”
My hands started shaking so badly that I almost dropped my phone.
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Yes, I lived in Iowa in the late 90s. I was in my twenties and working for the first time in a library in Des Moines.
But I had never been pregnant, I had never given birth. I had never even been afraid of being pregnant. I had barely dated men back then, too shy and awkward to do much more than go to the movies with the occasional guy from work.
I clicked on her profile with trembling fingers. Her name was Hannah, she was 25 years old, and her bio was short and heartbreaking: “I’m just looking for answers. I’m not trying to disrupt anyone’s life. If you know anything, please feel free to contact us.”
She had no idea that she had already completely turned mine upside down.
