That realization didn’t arrive suddenly. It settled slowly, like dust after a door has been opened for the first time in years. I stood there for a long moment, listening to the river, wondering how many questions a life could hide before they began asking themselves.At home, I searched through old boxes my family had carried from place to place. Most of them held ordinary things—school certificates, faded photographs, letters addressed to people who no longer lived with us. Then I found a thin file tucked beneath winter clothes.My name was written on it. Carefully. Deliberately.Inside were documents I had