Her Name Was Hannah… And She Was Already Ruining My Life (Without Knowing It)
I clicked her profile.
Her name was Hannah.
She was 25.
Her bio was short and heartbreaking:
“Just searching for answers. Not trying to disrupt anyone’s life. If you know anything, please reach out.”
Little did she know she’d already disrupted mine completely.
I scrolled through her photos, trying to catch some small difference — something that would let my brain relax.
But every photo made it worse.
- Graduation cap and gown — same smile
- Hiking with friends — same posture
- A café selfie — glasses almost identical to mine
It wasn’t just a face.
It was expressions. Mannerisms. The way she tilted her head.
“How is this possible?” I whispered, and Biscuit lifted his head like he understood the question.
Hannah had been searching for months.
Adoption groups. Genealogy forums. DNA testing.
She knew her birth mother was from Iowa.
That was it.
The trail went cold.
My mind ran through the only explanations it could tolerate.
- A cousin I didn’t know?
- A long-lost relative?
- A coincidence so insane it felt cruel?
Then another thought hit me hard enough to make my chest ache.
What if I didn’t know the full story of my own life?
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