The Forgotten Heir

Chapter 2: The Fault in the Frame

The following morning started like any other. Ryan's usual struggle to get out of bed was accompanied by his dad's over-enthusiastic hollering from downstairs.

"Ryan! Let's move! The pancakes aren't gonna eat themselves!"

"I swear he loves pancakes more than me," Ryan muttered, rubbing his eyes and swinging his legs off the bed. He didn't complain too much; family breakfast was his favorite part of the day. Despite their constant banter, there was something comforting about sitting at the table, joking with his parents before tackling the chaos of high school.

The weekend was quickly approaching, and Ryan was buzzing with anticipation. Saturday meant a big volleyball game against their rival school, Ridgefield High. The thought of scoring the winning point had him grinning as he wolfed down breakfast.

"Big day Saturday, huh?" Mike said, leaning back in his chair and sipping coffee.

"You better believe it," Ryan replied, spearing a piece of pancake with his fork. "I'm going to crush Ridgefield so hard, their mascot will need therapy."

Mike laughed. "That's my boy! Just don't forget about practice tonight."

Lily smiled at the exchange, leaning against the counter. "You know, I love how you two bond over sports. It's adorable."

"Mom, please. Adorable? I'm a fearsome athlete, not a kitten," Ryan said, mock-horrified.

"Adorably fearsome," she teased, winking.

Later that evening, after practice, Ryan came home sweaty and exhausted but satisfied. Practice had gone well, and the team seemed poised for victory. He tossed his gym bag into the corner of his room and flopped onto his bed, scrolling through his phone until he remembered his mom's earlier reminder.

"Ryan, don't forget to help me clean the attic tomorrow!"

The attic. That dusty, forgotten place above the garage. He'd avoided it for years, citing cobwebs, creepy shadows, and sheer laziness. But Lily had insisted it needed a thorough cleaning before the contractor arrived to fix the roof.

The next morning, Ryan and Lily climbed into the attic armed with a broom, garbage bags, and Ryan's reluctant sighs. The air was thick with dust, and the dim light from a single bulb barely illuminated the room.

"This is like a horror movie setup," Ryan muttered, wrinkling his nose as he brushed past a particularly large cobweb.

Lily chuckled, pulling open an old trunk. "You'll survive. Besides, look at all this stuff! You might find something cool."

Ryan rolled his eyes but started poking around. Most of the boxes contained the usual attic fare: holiday decorations, old clothes, and ancient VHS tapes. But as he shifted a particularly heavy box labeled Photos, a smaller envelope slipped out and landed at his feet.

Curious, he picked it up. It was sealed but had no markings or labels. "What's this?" he muttered, holding it up to the light.

"Find something?" Lily asked, glancing over her shoulder.

"Uh, nothing. Just some boring envelope," Ryan said quickly, shoving it into his hoodie pocket. He wasn't sure why he didn't show her. Maybe it was the way his chest tightened when he saw the yellowed edges, or the faint handwriting scrawled on the back that he couldn't quite make out.

That night, after dinner, Ryan retreated to his room, the envelope burning a hole in his pocket. His parents were downstairs watching TV, their laughter echoing faintly up the stairs. He pulled the envelope out, turning it over in his hands.

It was fragile, the paper thin and worn. Carefully, he peeled it open, his heart racing for reasons he couldn't explain. Inside was a single sheet of paper folded neatly.

As he unfolded it, his eyes scanned the words, his pulse quickening with every line.

"Certificate of Adoption
This is to certify that Ryan Ethan Carter was adopted on June 15th, 2009, by Michael and Lily Carter."

For a moment, Ryan didn't move. The words blurred together, his mind racing. Adopted? No. That couldn't be right. It didn't make sense. His parents—no, Mike and Lily—had never mentioned anything about this. They were his parents. Weren't they?

He stared at the certificate, his hands trembling. A flurry of memories surfaced—his cousins teasing him about not looking like his parents, his classmates' occasional remarks. The blond hair. The blue eyes. The little things he'd ignored, dismissed as unimportant.

Ryan swallowed hard, his chest tightening. They had lied to him. The two people he trusted most in the world had kept this from him.

His first instinct was to storm downstairs, demand an explanation. But then he stopped. If they'd kept this a secret for so long, what would confronting them accomplish? Did they even plan to tell him?

He clenched his jaw, folding the paper and tucking it back into the envelope. No. He wouldn't say anything—yet. He needed answers, but not from them.

Ryan sat back on his bed, the envelope clutched tightly in his hands. His heart was heavy, but his mind was sharp. He had questions. He needed the truth. And he would find it—on his own.

Downstairs, the faint sound of his parents' laughter drifted up through the floorboards. It felt distant now, like it belonged to a different life, a life that had shattered the moment he unfolded that piece of paper.

Ryan stared at the ceiling, the weight of the revelation pressing down on him.

Tomorrow, he would start looking.