How I Found Out My Parents Were Spies: A Short Story

Photo by TasiaTheWriter

My Name is Alora, I'm an ordinary young woman who grew up in the embrace of suburban normalcy. Little did I know, my world was a carefully constructed facade, and the truth about my existence was about to unravel.

I’ve lived a life of blissful ignorance curated by My parents, Clarice and Leo. They were your typical suburban parents, they encouraged and attended every cheer performance, they were on the school board, or so I thought.

It all began on the night of a bad storm, the kind that sends shivers down your spine because you just know your house will be next on the town’s serial killer’s hit list. He knows the rain and thunder will drown out your screams. Seeking refuge in the attic from the rattling windows and howling winds, I stumbled upon an old leather-bound journal. Its pages, yellowed with time, unveiled a reality I could scarcely believe, a world of espionage, covert operations, and hidden alliances. My parents were not the ordinary couple I had thought them to be; they were born in another country, some place I had never been. They were dancing with danger, possible even enjoying it.

The revelation was a thunderclap in the silence of my unsuspecting life. The images of my parents as spies, orchestrating a clandestine dance in the dark, in secret, haunted my thoughts. A collection of false identities, a passport for each, I grappled with the weight of betrayal, the feeling of being a pawn in a sinister game that had unfolded beneath my very nose.

In the aftermath of my discovery, my parents vanished without a trace. The house echoed with emptiness, and the void left in their wake seemed to swallow me whole. I was left with an ominous sense of abandonment and an insatiable hunger for answers.

The trail they left behind was a series of cryptic breadcrumbs, leading me through a concealed home in the middle of the woods and an old speakeasy beneath one of the local stores in my town. Each step heightened the tension, and I encountered mysterious people who seemed to know more about my family’s past than I did. The line between friend and foe blurred, and I navigated a treacherous landscape of deception and uncertainty.

My quest led me beyond my town, into foreign territory where strangers seemed to hold a piece of my parents' puzzle. The world I thought I knew crumbled, replaced by a reality defined by intrigue and the constant threat of betrayal. I felt so alone, and I grappled with the realization that I may never see my parents again and get answers about who they really are.

My parents may be in danger, or they may not want to be found. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering, I need answers now. Thankfully, after digging I have found their stash worth over $2 million. I grab a few stacks, booked a flight and head to my first stop out of the country.

My verves rattle as the plane lands and I find myself standing on unfamiliar ground. The air was thick and still warm as the sun sets over the Serengeti. I am in awe of the untouched beauty of the vast expanse of the Zimbabwean landscape. I look down at the note that bare my mother’s handwriting with my name written across. I don’t know what lie ahead but there may not be anything to go back to if i turn back now. The only direction is forward. I exchange $10,000 for Zimbabwean dollars before leaving the airport.

With determination burning in my chest, I navigated the bustling streets of Harare, guided by a sense of purpose that eclipsed the uncertainty of my surroundings. The city is filled with hundreds of faces, familiar yet strange to me. My parents never talked about their upbringing but I never questioned their secrecy. They encouraged me to create the life I wanted by looking forward, not reliving the past. When your family dynamic is all you know it is received as normal, even if it isn’t.

I come across a vender selling motor bikes and purchase one for 1,000 ZWB. The note contains a hand drawn map leading to one location on the outskirts of Harare, where the landscape shifted to sprawling plains and dense wilderness. The coordinates pointed to an isolated location starting at Mutare Village. A kind native pointed me in the direction of Mutare road nestled between two vendor tents. I zip through the dirt roads surrounded by thick green leaves shielding fields of corn and wheat. With no time to enjoy the scenery I can only hope to avoid pitfalls as a race to the location before dark. The road grows darker as the lights from the city dim behind me. The slither of sunlight descending into the horizon coupled with my headlights is all I have to light my path.

Twenty minutes into the winding path a light flickers a few yards away. I slow my speed and approach with caution. The remote cottage is nestled between fields of various crops with lush green hills in the distance. The word beauty doesn’t even describe the essence of this place. I can only imagine this place being just as it was the day God created the earth in all it’s natural glory.

The Parents.

To be continued.