"What are they really hiding from me?" Arwen muttered softly, staring blankly at her slightly open window.
The cool morning air seeped in, but it couldn't calm the anxiety that was churning in her chest.
She clutched the thin scarf around her neck, as if it could hold back the anxiety that was increasingly weighing her down. "That look, as if he knew me. But how could that be? I've never met him. I don't even know who my father is."
Arwen sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers tracing the frame of a small, old photo placed on the small table beside her.
The only photo she always carried with her, always tucked inside her wallet.
The photo showed a young woman with a gentle smile—her mother. "Mother, they all say you died when you gave birth to me. But why doesn't anyone talk about
