My True Identity

On the morning of his thirty-second birthday, Troy Michael stood by the window of his room and watched the city slowly awaken. People hurried toward work, carrying bags, and neatly dressed as usual. But for Troy, November 18 had never been an ordinary day. It's his birthday. At least, that was what he had always been told. He turned away from the window and looked at the photograph on his desk. Mr. and Mrs. Peter stood on either side of him, smiling proudly. Troy was only a child in the picture, standing between the two people he had always called his parents. They had given him a home, sent him to school, celebrated his birthdays, and loved him. But there was one question they had never answered. "Where did I come from?" Troy had asked that question many times as a child. And every time, the answer changed. Sometimes his mother said he had been born in their hometown. Other times, she mentioned a hospital several miles away. Whenever he asked for more details, the conversation somehow ended. So, one afternoon, when Troy was still in primary school, he returned home with a question from his teacher. He dropped his schoolbag beside the kitchen door. “Mummy.” Mrs. Peter turned from the stove. “Yes?” “Where was I born?” The spoon in her hand dropped. “Why are you asking?” she said. “Our teacher told us to write the name of the hospital where we were born.” Mrs. Peter forced a smile. “You were born in Nigeria.” “I know that. But which hospital?” She turned back toward the stove. “You were very small when that happened. Why are you suddenly interested in it?” “Everyone in my class knows theirs.” Mrs. Peter sighed. “Troy, some questions aren't important.” He frowned. “But it's about me.” She turned and looked at him. For several seconds, neither of them spoke. Then she walked over, placed a hand on his head and smiled. “You were born. You are here. You are loved. Isn't that enough?” she asked. "But it's just an assignment" Troy responded. "Then write St Luke's hospital". That's another hospital different from the ones he has been told before when he asked, and he kept wondering why his own parents doesn't know the hospital he was born in. But at that age, Troy didn't know what else to say. So he nodded. But he never forgot the hesitation in her voice. Or the question she refused to answer. Years passed. Troy grew into a determined young man. He studied hard and dreamed of becoming an engineer. More than anything, he wanted to make his parents proud. Then, at sixteen, his world changed. One evening, Mr. and Mrs. Peter left the house, promising they would return soon, but they never did. Hours later, someone knocked on the door. Troy opened it. Two strangers stood outside. One of them looked at him with pity. “Are you Troy?” “Yes.” The man's expression changed. “I'm sorry.” Troy stared at him. “Sorry for what?” The answer shattered everything he knew. His parents had been involved in an accident, and they're dead. For days afterward, Troy moved through life as if he was watching someone else's story. His mother's clothes remained in the house. His father's shoes were still near the door. Every room carried a memory. Then the house became too quiet, and eventually, Troy was taken to an orphanage. And there, the question returned. One afternoon, several boys were discussing their families when one of them looked at Troy. “You don't even know where you came from.” Another boy laughed. “Ask him who his real parents are.” Troy turned around. “My parents are dead.” The boy shrugged. “That doesn't answer the question.” Troy walked away. That night, he remembered his mother's words. "Some questions are not important." For the first time, he wondered whether she had been trying to protect him from something. Or whether she had been hiding something from him. Troy refused to let the question destroy his future. He concentrated on school. He studied harder, and eventually, his academic performance earned him recognition at a student engineering event, where he caught the attention of a foreign businessman visiting Nigeria. The man's name was Anthony Petro. Impressed by Troy's intelligence and determination, Anthony offered to help him continue his education abroad, and Troy accepted. Leaving Nigeria was difficult, but he believed it was the beginning of a new life. Anthony became more than just the man who helped him leave Nigeria. He became an important figure in Troy's life, opening doors that Troy had never imagined could exist. But Anthony never asked too many questions about Troy's past. And Troy never thought much about that. He studied engineering, worked whenever he could, and eventually built a successful business. Over time, he became financially independent and decided to answer the name of the man who made him. To the world, he was Anthony Petro jnr. A successful businessman who had built his life from almost nothing. But inside, he was still Troy Michael. The boy who wanted to know where he came from, and no amount of money or success had silenced that question. A few months before his thirty-second birthday, Troy opened an old wooden box he had kept for years. Inside were the few things he had managed to preserve from his childhood. An old school certificate. A faded photograph of Mr. and Mrs. Peter. A small toy his mother had once given him. And a piece of paper bearing his name. "Troy Michael." He stared at the paper for a long time. He remembered everything and how his mom never told him the exact hospital he was born. She had always given him different answers. For thirty-two years, he had accepted that answer. He picked up his phone and called someone he had once contacted privately. “Do you still have access to old records from Nigeria?” Troy asked. The person on the other end hesitated. “Some records. Why?” “I need information about my birth.” There was silence. “Are you sure you want to reopen that?” Troy looked at the photograph on his desk. “Yes.” After the call ended, Troy made his decision. He was going back to Nigeria. Not for business nor for a holiday, but for answers. Then Vanessa came into his life. She was one of the few people who noticed that beneath Troy's confidence was a past he rarely discussed. One evening, she studied him carefully. “You never tell me what you're thinking.” “Maybe there's nothing to tell.” She frowned. “Everybody thinks about something.” Troy smiled faintly. “Not everybody wants to talk about it.” Vanessa leaned back. “There is something about your past you don't tell me.” Troy said nothing. She sighed. “I don't need every detail. I just want you to trust me.” “I do.” “Then why does it feel like there's a door inside you that you won't let me open?” Troy looked away because there was a door and behind it was a question he had carried for thirty-two years. Vanessa watched him quietly. “Whatever you're running from,” she said, “I hope you find the courage to face it.” Troy looked at her. “I'm not running anymore.” A few months later, he made his decision official. He was going back to Nigeria. Vanessa was surprised when he told her. “For how long?” “I don't know.” “Is this about your parents?” Troy was silent for a moment. “Partly.” “What are you looking for?” He looked at her. “The truth.” She studied his face and realized he had already made up his mind. On November 18, Troy returned back from work. He had expected the day to be quiet. Instead, when he opened the door to his home that evening, the lights suddenly came on. “Surprise!” Troy froze. Vanessa stood in the middle of the room with several friends. A birthday cake sat on the table. Music played in the background. “You did all this?” Vanessa smiled. “Of course.” For the first time that day, Troy genuinely smiled. The evening passed with laughter, food, and conversation. For a few hours, he forgot about the past. He simply enjoyed being surrounded by people who cared about him. Then someone knocked on the door. Vanessa looked toward it. "Are you expecting anyone?" “I wasn't expecting anyone.” Troy walked over and opened the door. An elderly woman stood outside. She wore a simple dress and carried a small handbag. The moment her eyes met Troy's, her expression changed. She stared at him. Not with curiosity, but with fear. “Can I help you?” Her eyes remained fixed on his face. Then she whispered, “You look just like her.” Troy's smile disappeared. “Like who?” She stepped backward. “Wait.” Troy followed her outside. “Who do I look like?” The woman looked at him for several seconds. Then she asked quietly, “Do you really believe November 18 is your birthday?” Troy froze. “What?” The woman tightened her grip on her handbag. “I shouldn't have come.” “Wait!” Troy called. “What do you know about me?” She turned away. Troy stepped forward. “Please. Who is she?” The woman stopped. For a moment, Troy thought she was finally going to answer. Instead, she looked over her shoulder. “You have your mother's eyes.” Troy's heart began to pound. “My mother?” The woman said nothing more. She hurried away. “Wait!” Troy ran after her. But by the time he reached the end of the street, she was gone. He stood there, breathing heavily. The street was almost empty. Then something caught his attention. A small white envelope lay on the ground where the woman had been standing. Troy bent down and picked it up. He looked toward the direction the woman had disappeared. "Had she dropped it. Or had she left it for him?" There was no name on the front. Only one sentence had been written across it. "For the boy who was never supposed to be found." Troy stared at the words. His fingers tightened around the envelope. Behind him, the birthday party continued. Laughter came from inside the house. Nobody knew what had just happened except Troy. Nobody knew that Troy was standing outside with an envelope that could change everything he thought he knew about himself. He slowly looked at the date on his phone. "November 18". For thirty-two years, he had accepted that date as his birthday. Now, for the first time, he wondered if it had ever been true. Troy turned the envelope over. It was sealed. He ran his thumb along the edge but stopped. For some reason, opening it suddenly felt more frightening than finding it. Then he noticed something else. In the bottom corner of the envelope was a faded mark. "A hospital symbol." Troy's eyes widened. The same kind of symbol he remembered seeing on the old hospital documents he had found during his investigation. His heart began to race. This wasn't a coincidence. Someone knew about his past. And somehow, that person knew he was in Canada. Troy looked down at the envelope again. There was only one question in his mind. "Who was Troy Michael really?". And more importantly, "who had spent thirty-two years making sure he never found out?"