The Forgotten Heir

Chapter 4: Threads Begin to Unravel

The next morning, Ryan woke up feeling oddly invigorated. The gnawing confusion was still there, but it had shifted, replaced by a stubborn determination. There was a mystery to solve, and he was the kind of person who didn't back down from a challenge.

He dressed quickly, shoving the adoption certificate and a notebook into his backpack. Today wasn't just another day at school-it was the start of his investigation.

At lunch, Ryan sat at the far end of the cafeteria, away from his usual crew. He wanted to think without interruptions, without Jake's persistent questions or his teammates teasing him about his height.

Flipping open his notebook, he wrote down what he knew so far:

Adoption Agency: Haven Adoption Services.Date: June 15, 2009.Question: Why was I adopted?

He stared at the questions, tapping his pen against the table. There were no answers yet, only fragments of a puzzle that didn't fit together.

"Deep thoughts, huh?" Jake's voice snapped him out of his trance.

Ryan quickly closed the notebook and plastered on a grin. "Just figuring out how to annihilate Ridgefield this Saturday."

Jake grinned back. "Good plan. Annihilation is always the goal."

Ryan nodded, relieved as Jake launched into a story about their rival's clumsy libero. But Ryan's mind wasn't on volleyball anymore. The game was just another distraction-something to keep everyone from noticing the turmoil swirling inside him.

That evening, Ryan found himself back at the library. This time, he skipped the general internet searches and went straight for the computers that offered access to public records. If Haven Adoption Services was a real agency, there had to be a trace of it somewhere.

He typed the name into the search bar, holding his breath.

Nothing.

Ryan frowned, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he tried different variations: Haven Adoption Center, Haven Services, Adoption Haven. Still nothing.

"Come on," he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. How could the agency not exist? He stared at the screen, his mind racing. Either the agency had shut down, or it wasn't a legitimate organization to begin with.

The latter thought made his stomach twist.

As he left the library, Ryan pulled his hoodie tighter against the cool evening air. The streets were quiet, the hum of passing cars the only sound. His mind was a storm of possibilities. Why had his adoption been handled by an agency that didn't seem to exist anymore? Was it some kind of secret arrangement?

When he got home, he headed straight to his room, locking the door behind him. He pulled out his phone and searched for another angle: local archives. If Haven Adoption Services had operated in his town, there had to be something-an address, a mention in an old newspaper article.

Finally, he found a lead. A brief mention of the agency in a years-old article about a family reunion. The accompanying address was a few towns over, in a building that now seemed to house a coffee shop.

Ryan's heart raced. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

The next day, Ryan pretended he was going to a friend's house after school, a white lie that rolled off his tongue too easily. His parents smiled and waved him off, none the wiser. He hopped on a bus to the neighboring town, clutching his notebook like a lifeline.

When he arrived, the address led him to a cozy coffee shop tucked between a florist and a laundromat. It looked normal-quaint, even-but Ryan's pulse quickened as he stepped inside.

The barista greeted him with a cheerful smile. "What can I get you?"

Ryan hesitated. "Uh, just a hot chocolate," he said, his voice distracted. As she prepared his drink, his eyes scanned the shop. He wasn't sure what he was looking for-a clue, a sign, something that connected this place to his adoption.

"Here you go," the barista said, sliding the cup across the counter.

"Thanks," Ryan muttered, taking a seat near the window. He pulled out his notebook and stared at the blank page, unsure of his next move.

Then, his eyes landed on a faded photo hanging on the wall near the register. It was a group photo, probably of the building's previous tenants. The words Haven Adoption Services were etched on a small plaque beneath it.

Ryan's breath caught. There it was-proof that the agency had once been here. He walked over to the photo, studying the faces. None of them looked familiar, but it was something-a piece of the puzzle.

"That's an old one," the barista said, noticing his interest. "Before this place was a coffee shop, it was some kind of agency. Adoption, I think? My boss found that picture when she was renovating."

Ryan turned to her, his voice steady. "Do you know what happened to the agency?"

The barista shrugged. "No idea. My boss might know more. She's not here today, though."

"Do you think I could talk to her?" Ryan asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice.

"Sure," she said, scribbling down a phone number. "She loves talking about this old place. Just give her a call."

That evening, Ryan stared at the phone number, debating his next move. He wasn't sure what he hoped to find. Answers, yes-but what kind? Would they lead to more questions? Did he even want to know?

His parents called him down for dinner, their voices warm and inviting. For a moment, he considered tearing the number up, forgetting the whole thing. Maybe it was better not to know. Maybe the life he had was enough.

But then he remembered the certificate, the lies, the way they'd hidden the truth from him. No. He couldn't let it go.

Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number.

"Hello?" a cheerful voice answered.

"Hi," Ryan said, his heart pounding. "I, uh, heard you used to run a place called Haven Adoption Services? I think you might be able to help me with something."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Oh, honey," the woman said softly. "I haven't thought about Haven in years. What's this about?"

Ryan gripped the phone tighter. "I think I might've been adopted through your agency. I just... I need to know more."

The woman sighed. "Well, I don't remember much, but I can tell you this: Haven was a small operation, mostly private cases. If you're looking for records, they'd probably be with the state archives now."

Ryan's heart sank. "So, there's no way to find out who-"

"Not necessarily," she interrupted. "If you give me a little time, I might be able to dig up some old contacts. Call me back in a week, okay?"

"Okay," Ryan said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He hung up, staring at the phone. It wasn't the breakthrough he'd hoped for, but it was a step forward. He was getting closer, inch by inch, to the truth.

And he wasn't going to stop until he found it.