introduction

Rachel Allen, the daughter of Mark Allen and Eliza Allen, and...My mother, I don't know how she did it. My mother was hard working, Determined, independent, Understanding, caring, and beautiful woman….at least that's what my grandparents tell me. I don't remember much about her really she died when I was three but what I do remember is her hair how it would fall into her face slowly. Dark Brown locks of curly hair, her green eyes; emerald green, but the one thing I remember the most is her smile. Grandpa says I have her smile he would always say:

"you have your mothers smile Opal, you look just like Rachel, My beautiful Rachel…." my grandfather would sigh and go back to reading the Sunday paper.

"Your just saying that grandpa, I'm nothing like her…" I would say but he would always tell me other wise. I know a lot about how my mother was before she died and before I was born because my grandma and grandpa are always open when telling stories about her, all I have to do is ask.

"Your mother always found a way to get stuff done" my grandmother would chuckle "No matter how much people said she couldn't do it, she always proved them wrong."

"What about my father?" I would ask, even as six year old me asked I knew the only answer I would get would be silence and that's what I got. Thousands of wonderful stories about Rachel Allen…zero about my unknown father. Every year on my birthday I would ask the same question: "Who's my father?" I just got silence …silence, silence, and more silence. When I turned 14 I decided to give up on asking, but that didn't mean I was gonna give up looking for answers. My best friend Darling Robinson agreed to help me out. we went to our school library at St. Quinton High School looking for answers using clues from the storys my grandparents told. We found out where my mother lived and where she used to work. Darling and I even found out a possible location of where my mother and father met; An old book store what we late found out a part of it had been torn down and rebuilt to have become the coffee shop where we go to study. Unfortunately it wasn't enough we soon hit a dead end. I started to lose hope but just recently on my 15th birthday I saw my grandfather go into our basement and open a a secret compartment hidden in the wall, contain inside was a lock box, I only saw partly what was inside. It seemed to be a fairy tale book, A golden bond paper (What I believe ismy birth certificate) and a small frame displaying a picture my mother and a man, who I guessed was my father. Knowing this I decided to do something I've never done before ,something I never even thought of: Going behind my grandparents backs. I would have to steal the key to the lock box. If I did this then no longer would I be left in the dark I would possibly find out who my father is, I would finally know the truth. I would know who I really was. Turns out I was just opening the door for my worst Nightmares.