The girl who thought that she lost everything, but maybe she gained more.
A 14years old Theia has good life. She tries her best at everything. But one day something happens, and she now knows that she needs to learn more about her past.
What happen...
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Worse then telling a lie,
is spending your whole life,
living in one.
Theia's POV
At this very moment, I find myself sitting on the porch of the farmhouse, a warm mug of tea cradled between my hands. The steam rises in delicate swirls, curling into the cool air around me.
I exhale softly, watching as my breath mingles with the mist from the tea before I blow on it gently, hoping to cool it down just enough to sip without burning my tongue. After a few moments, I bring the cup to my lips and take small, careful sips, savoring the comforting warmth that spreads through my chest like a slow-burning fire.
It's my favorite flavor—apple and cinnamon. The familiar taste wraps around me like a blanket, soothing yet bittersweet. The comforting taste lingers on my tongue, but it does little to chase away the thoughts circling in my mind. As I sit there, allowing myself to sink into the moment, an unsettling realization settles in the back of my mind. Everything I thought I knew was a lie.
Yesterday, when I first uncovered the truth, I kept repeating that phrase over and over: everything was a lie. But now, after a night of restless sleep and endless thoughts circling through my mind, the weight of it all finally sinks in. I realize not only what was false but also what was missing—the experiences I had convinced myself I remembered, the ones I had clung to as proof of a happy childhood.
I think about Christmas. Every year, we would leave the house for hours, doing whatever errands or activities my so-called parents had planned.
And every time we returned, a fully decorated Christmas tree would be standing there, twinkling as if by magic. As if by that magic he just appeared there. I used to wonder how it got there because I had no recollection of decorating it. But they always had an excuse—I must have been too tired, maybe I had fallen asleep, maybe I had just forgotten.
And I believed them.
Even thou deep down I always knew that wasn't the case.
For years, they convinced me I had helped them decorate the tree, that I had hung ornaments and strung lights alongside them, that I had simply been too young to recall the details. But now, looking back, I know the truth.
And this time I'm sure of it. We never decorated that tree together. We never spent an afternoon tangled in strings of lights, laughing as we carefully placed ornaments on the branches. We never baked Christmas cookies, never played in the snow, never built a snowman or had a snowball fight.
We never even done any of those other silly things families do. There were no Christmas movies on the couch under warm blankets, no excited chatter about Santa Claus. The things that should have made the holiday special—the togetherness, the love—were just... missing.
