UNTIL MY DYING BREATHE

Chapter2

Claire's POV

I didn’t know how I made it back to school. One minute I was standing at my father’s hospital bed, feeling like the world had collapsed, and the next I was sitting in the hallway outside my classroom, tears blurring my vision.

The shock of it all hit me hard. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't stop crying.

People passed by, their voices muted, but none of it registered. How could I focus on school, on anything, when my entire life had just unraveled?

I had no idea where to start—no idea what to do now that my father was gone, and even worse, now that I knew I wasn’t his daughter.

The dizziness came first, swirling through my head, and then the blackness. I faintly remember slumping forward, my body giving in to the shock of everything.

When I woke up, I was lying on a cot in the nurse’s office. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled the air, and I blinked against the harsh fluorescent lights overhead.

The nurse, a soft-spoken woman, came over with a kind but tired smile. “You fainted, sweetheart. We had to carry you here.”

I wiped my eyes, which were still wet with tears. “I don’t even know what happened,” I mumbled. My headache and my heart felt like it had been hollowed out.

“You’ve been through a lot,” she said, glancing down at the chart. “You should go home, Claire. Freshen up. Your father’s family is already making arrangements for the funeral.

You need rest.”

Funeral. The word hit me like a punch to the gut. He was gone. Numbly, I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

The nurse handed me some water and checked my vitals one last time before sending me on my way.

I don’t remember the drive home or how long I stood at the front door, hesitating to walk inside. But when I did, the house was full of people—families I barely knew, relatives I hadn’t seen in years.

My grandparents were there, along with a few cousins I hadn’t spoken to since I was a kid.

They hugged me, their faces solemn, offering quiet condolences, but I couldn’t focus on any of them. I just wanted to be alone.

“Go take a bath, Claire,” my grandmother said softly, her hands resting gently on my shoulders. “Rest. We’ll talk later.”

I nodded and slipped upstairs, taking off my clothes as I stepped into the shower. The hot water washed over me, but it didn’t wash away the heaviness clinging to my chest.

I pressed my forehead against the cool tile, my body wracked with sobs. I cried until my throat was raw and my tears ran dry.

After my bath, I went straight to my room and locked the door. I collapsed onto my bed, clutching the pillow to my chest like it could somehow hold me together.

But I was falling apart. Completely unraveling. I couldn’t stop thinking about my father, about the secret he’d kept from me, about the family I never knew. And now… he was gone, taking all the answers with him.

I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the day. I refused to come out, no matter how many times someone knocked on my door.

My body ached from crying, but I couldn’t sleep. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling like a part of me had died along with him.

The next day was the funeral. I barely remember it. The service was a blur of people in black, of whispers and the heavy scent of flowers.

I stood beside my grandparents, staring at the closed casket, feeling like I was floating outside of myself. I couldn’t cry anymore. I was too numb for tears.

After the funeral, I sat with my grandmother in the quietness of the living room. The others were in the kitchen, their voices hushed as they cleaned up from the reception.

I could feel the weight of the question in my chest, pressing harder and harder until I finally let it out.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Why didn’t you ever tell me the truth about who I am?”

My grandmother sighed, her wrinkled hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Your father didn’t want you to know.

He thought it would make you unhappy… and he couldn’t bear to see that.”

“But I deserved to know,” I said, the frustration breaking through the numbness. “I should’ve had the choice to find out who I am. Why didn’t he tell me before he died?”

“He wanted to protect you,” she whispered. “He always wanted you to be happy, Claire. That was the most important thing to him.”

Happy. The word felt bitter on my tongue. How could I be happy when I didn’t even know who I was?

My chest tightened as the weight of everything settled in. I needed answers—needed to know where I came from, and who my real parents were.

“I need to find them,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Please, Grandma… help me find them.”

My grandmother looked at me with sad eyes, shaking her head. “We don’t know much, Claire. Your father… he kept most of it to himself.

He didn’t want us digging into the past. But if you want to search, you might find something in his room. He kept some records in his archives.”

Without waiting, I stood and headed upstairs to my father’s room. The scent of him lingered there, a mix of his aftershave and the old books he loved to collect.

It felt strange like I was invading his space, but I needed to know. I had to.

I searched through drawers and boxes, sorting through old papers and files, but there wasn’t much.

I was starting to lose hope when something caught my eye—a small locket buried beneath a stack of letters. I held it up, my fingers trembling as I opened it.

Inside was a picture of me—a younger version of myself, maybe five or six years old. I was standing between a man and a woman I didn’t recognize, but something about them felt familiar.

They looked like me, their features hauntingly similar. Could they be… my parents?

My heart raced as I stared at the photo, who were they? Why had they left me? Why didn’t they want me?

I clutched the locket to my chest, feeling the weight of it, feeling the weight of everything.

My father had tried to protect me, tried to shield me from the truth, but now… now I had to face it.

I had to find out who I was.