Lost in the Rearview
For three years, I drove Uber not out of ambition, but out of necessity. Life had stripped me of everything else—my apartment had become a revolving door of half-furnished furniture, my savings were a distant memory, and every day felt like running on empty. Most nights blurred together: silent highways, dimly lit neighborhoods, tired conversations that ended with a polite smile and the click of the door.
That night, it was just another ride—or so I thought.
He stepped into my car like he belonged there, though everything about him screamed out of place: tall, impeccably dressed, hands folded neatly in his lap, and eyes that seemed to carry decades of secrets. I glanced in the rearview mirror. He didn’t just look at me. He searched me.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” he said softly after a long silence.
I forced a smile. “Guess I do.”
He hesitated, then asked a question that made my hands tighten on the steering wheel. “What’s your mother’s name?”
The air grew heavy. Something about the fragility in his voice—the way it trembled, like a thread about to snap—made me answer. “Her name was Margaret.”
The effect on him was instantaneous. His face crumpled. Tears ran unchecked down his cheeks, like a dam had burst. “Oh God… it’s really you.”
I froze. “I… I think you’re mistaken, sir.”
He shook his head violently, fumbling with his phone. The screen lit up the dark interior of the car. My heart thudded as he swiped to a photograph.
It was a picture I had only seen once in my life: my mother, holding a newborn. Me.
“Impossible…” I whispered.
“I’ve been looking for you for twenty-eight years,” he said, voice breaking. “I knew you’d still have her eyes.”
My mind reeled. “Who… who are you?”
“My name is Henry. I… I was supposed to protect you.”
The words hung between us. I wanted to ask more, but before I could, a sudden vibration made my phone buzz in my pocket. A single message appeared on the screen:
“They know where you are. Don’t let him find you first.”
I slammed on the brakes. The car jolted, tires squealing. A shadow darted across the street. When I looked back, Henry was gone. Completely gone.
Panic surged through me. I drove aimlessly for the next hour, hands shaking, heart hammering. Who were they? And why was Henry involved?
The next day, I returned to the apartment I hadn’t had the energy to clean. My mind kept replaying Henry’s words. Protect me? From who? And why now, after all these years?
A knock at the door made me jump. I peered through the peephole. No one. But taped to the door was a single envelope, yellowed, worn at the edges. Inside, there was a photograph—my mother, smiling, younger than I had ever known her. On the back, scribbled in messy handwriting:
“You are not safe. Find the diary.”
The diary. My mother’s diary. I remembered it vaguely from childhood, tucked in the attic of her old house. She had left it for me—or maybe for someone else to find.
I had no choice. I took a bus out of the city, back to the house I had avoided for years. The attic was dusty, filled with moth-eaten furniture and boxes of forgotten memories. And there, behind a false panel, I found it: a leather-bound diary, edges frayed, pages yellowed.
The entries spoke of a secret life I had never imagined. My mother had been part of something dangerous—a covert network protecting children with certain… gifts. And I was one of them. Not special in a normal sense, but special enough that there were people who would kill to control me.
As I read, a chilling realization sank in: Henry wasn’t just searching. He was guarding me. And now, his sudden disappearance didn’t feel like abandonment—it felt like a warning.
That night, I tried to sleep. But every shadow in my apartment seemed to move. Every creak of the floor sounded like someone stepping closer. I checked the diary again. One entry stood out:
“If the time comes, trust no one. Not even those who cry with you.”
I knew what I had to do. I had to confront Henry, get answers, and stay alive.
I found him at a small diner on the outskirts of town. He looked older than his years, eyes tired, haunted. “You shouldn’t have come here alone,” he said.
“I don’t have a choice,” I said. “Tell me everything.”
He hesitated, then pulled out a small key from his pocket. “This opens a safe deposit box. Inside, you’ll find what your mother wanted you to have. It’s the only way to understand the full truth.”
I took the key. “And… what happens after that?”
He shook his head. “After that… you make choices. Hard choices.”
I didn’t know what he meant until I opened the box. Inside were documents, photographs, and a USB drive. Among them, a video file titled “When the Time Comes.” My hands shook as I clicked it open.
The footage was grainy. My mother, younger, staring directly into the camera. “If you’re seeing this, then I’m gone. But they will come for you. You must be ready. Trust no one… not even Henry. He is the only one standing between you and them—but he cannot protect you forever.”
The phone buzzed. A single alert on my screen: a live location ping. Someone was tracking me—right now.
I turned around. Henry was gone again. Only the empty booth remained. And in the corner of the diner, a figure in a dark coat slipped out the door, disappearing into the night.
I realized then: my life had been ordinary only because I didn’t know the world I had been born into. And now, the game had started.
For weeks, I ran, hiding in hotels, moving between cities. Each time I thought I had found safety, another clue appeared—another message, another warning. But the diary became my guide, and Henry, though frustratingly elusive, remained my only ally.
One night, while hiding in a remote cabin, I pieced together the final truth: my mother had been protecting not just me, but dozens of children like me, all born with “the gift.” The network she had built was now fractured, and those who wanted to control us were closing in. Henry hadn’t just been searching for me. He had been trying to rebuild the network in secret, keeping me alive long enough to take my place.
I realized the weight of the legacy on my shoulders. My life of ordinary survival was over. Every choice, every step, carried consequences I could not ignore.
And then, the final twist hit me like a hammer. I returned to the city, following one last lead. A familiar street. A familiar building. But when I reached the door, I found a note pinned to it:
“You are too late. They have what you’re looking for. And now… they know about you.”
The shadows around me seemed to grow darker. Every instinct screamed to run. But I also knew I couldn’t. Not anymore.
The hunt had just begun.
