I Was Curious Why My Parents Kept an Old Videotape in the Safe until I Saw What Was on It — Story of the Day

When helping her estranged mother pack up, Lucy stumbles upon a cryptic note in a list: “Do not show Lucy.” Her curiosity ignites, leading her to uncover a dusty videotape hidden in a safe. What secrets could her parents be keeping from her—and why did they never want her to know?

I remember that day vividly, the tension in the car thick enough to cut with a knife.

Dad was driving, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel, while I stared out the window, fuming.

The rhythm of the tires on the road didn’t calm me; it just amplified the silence between our arguments.

“Why do I have to do this on my day off?” I snapped, crossing my arms. “Couldn’t you have taken a taxi or asked a friend?”

Dad shot me a look, his voice sharp.

“Lucy! How can you say that? Your mother needs help! Isn’t it too much to ask for you to help her pack her things?”

I huffed, the familiar frustration bubbling up.

“Dad, you know exactly what my relationship with her is like…”

“I know!” he interrupted, his voice louder now.

“You haven’t spoken in over a decade. You’ve always been stubborn—just like her.”

“Stubborn?” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “She ruined my life, Dad!”

“Don’t exaggerate. She only wanted you to have a decent education,” he countered.

“All I ever did was study and follow her plans! I just wanted her to be proud of me, but it was never enough…”

“She did it because she loves you,” he said, his tone softening.

I turned away, staring out at the passing houses.

“Funny how my life started to feel better the moment I stopped speaking to her.”

Dad sighed. “Lucy…”

“That’s it,” I cut him off.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s just get this over with.”

When we pulled up to my parents’ house, I couldn’t contain the storm inside me.

I slammed the car door and marched toward the house, my emotions spilling over with each step.

I stepped into the house, the smell of dust and old wood filling my nose.

The living room looked the same as I remembered—familiar but distant, like a faded photograph. Todd followed close behind, his footsteps heavier than mine.

“So, what exactly do we need to take?” I asked, trying to mask my irritation.

Todd reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He squinted at the tiny print, holding it closer to his face.

Watching his struggle, I sighed and snatched it gently.

“Let me help.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said, handing it over with a sheepish smile.

I unfolded the list and read it aloud:

“A lamp, some dishes, books, photo albums, and valuables from the safe.”

Simple enough. Todd nodded and headed toward the kitchen while I made my way upstairs to the bedroom.

The room felt heavy with memories, the air almost thick with them. I grabbed a bag and began packing, carefully checking off items as I went.

A book here, a photo album there—it was methodical, almost mindless. But when I reached the end of the list, something stopped me cold.

At the bottom, in smaller handwriting, was a note:

“Do not show Lucy.”

My heart raced. What was so secret that it had to be hidden from me? My curiosity flared, my mind racing through possibilities.

“Lucy! I’m done here. Need any help?” Todd’s voice called from the kitchen.

“No, Dad, I’m almost finished!” I yelled back, my voice higher than usual.

My hands trembled as I punched in the code written on the list. The safe clicked open, and I peered inside.

There was the jewelry box, just as expected. But at the back, something else caught my eye—a small, dusty package.

I unwrapped it carefully, my fingers unsteady. Inside was a videotape, its black casing worn with age.

A rush of questions flooded my mind. Why was this here? Why did it need to be hidden?

Ignoring the note’s warning, I slipped the tape into my coat pocket. Whatever this was, I had to know.

“All done?” Todd asked as I reappeared.

“Yes, let’s go. I’m short on time,” I replied briskly, heading for the door with the tape weighing heavily on my thoughts.

As we pulled into the nursing home parking lot, my grip on the steering wheel tightened until my knuckles turned white.

The building loomed ahead, sterile and unwelcoming.

My chest felt heavy, weighed down by the resentment I’d carried for so many years. The idea of seeing my mother, of facing her, made my stomach churn.

Todd glanced at me, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. “Are you coming in with me?” he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

I shook my head quickly, avoiding his gaze. “No. You go. I packed everything from the list,” I replied flatly, my voice clipped.

“But Lucy… she’s your mom,” he said, his voice softening, almost pleading.

“Please, let’s not start this again,” I snapped, finally looking at him. “I don’t want to see her or talk to her. Period.”

Todd sighed heavily, his disappointment evident. He paused for a moment as if searching for the right words to convince me, but he finally gave up.

“Fine, just know that, she loves you very much,” he said, his voice resigned. He grabbed the bags from the backseat and headed toward the building.

I watched him go, a knot of guilt forming in my chest. But I pushed it down, telling myself I was justified.

Once Todd disappeared inside, I pulled out of the lot and drove home, the silence in the car deafening.

Back home, I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. My thoughts kept circling back to the tape hidden in my coat pocket.

I dug through the closet, pushing aside old boxes until I found the ancient VCR, covered in a layer of dust.

I wiped it down and set it up with the old TV, squinting at a guide online to figure out how to connect the outdated device.

“Let’s hope this still works,” I muttered under my breath as I inserted the tape and pressed play.

The screen flickered, and grainy footage filled the screen. Horizontal lines distorted the image, but I could make out the figures.

It was my parents—young, smiling, vibrant in a way I hadn’t seen in years. My mom held the camera, her laughter echoing faintly through the static.

My dad was crouched down, his arms outstretched, playing with a little girl.

I leaned closer, squinting at the screen. The little girl looked like me—same dark hair, same bright smile. But something felt… off.

Then I heard it.

“Chloe! Come here, Chloe! You’re such a clever girl!” my mom’s voice called out, warm and affectionate.

I froze, my heart pounding in my chest. Chloe? Who was Chloe? My parents only had one child. Me. And they’d always called me Lucy.

The video continued to play, but I couldn’t focus. My mind was racing, trying to piece together what I’d just seen.

Was there something I didn’t know about my family? Something they had hidden from me all these years?

I turned off the TV, my hands trembling. I needed answers. And there was only one person who could give them to me.

I grabbed my keys, steeling myself for what I had to do. It was time to see my mom.

Determined to get answers, I gripped the steering wheel tightly, my mind swirling with questions.

The drive to the nursing home was a blur of streetlights and memories.

My hands trembled as I parked and made my way inside, the cold air of the lobby only amplifying my nerves.

At the reception desk, a woman with a kind smile looked up from her computer. “Hello, may I help you?” she asked politely.

I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice. “My mother is here. I need to speak with her,” I said.

She tilted her head slightly. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before. What’s her name?”

“Emma. Her name is Emma,” I replied.

Her eyes widened in recognition. “Are you… Lucy?”

The surprise in her tone made me pause. “Yes. How do you know?” I asked, confused.

Her smile softened. “Your mom talks about you all the time. She’s asked for you often. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, well, we have… a complicated relationship,” I said, feeling a pang of guilt rise in my chest.

“She’ll be thrilled to see you,” the attendant said warmly and led me down the hall to her room.

When I entered, the room felt still, almost too quiet. Emma and Todd were sitting by the window, chatting softly.

They both turned toward the door, their expressions frozen in shock.

“Lucy! Oh, my love, I’ve missed you so much!” Mom exclaimed, her voice trembling as tears filled her eyes. She opened her arms, reaching for a hug.

I hesitated, waving instead to keep my distance.

“Mom, I need to talk to you,” I said, my tone serious.

Todd immediately caught on. He stood, brushing invisible dust from his pants.

“I’ll leave you two alone,” he said gently and slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him.

I pulled the tape from my bag and held it up. “I found this in your safe,” I said, watching her face carefully.

“‘Do not show Lucy.’ Care to explain?”

Her eyes widened, and she visibly paled. Her lips quivered as she tried to form words. Finally, she broke down, tears spilling freely.

“Lucy… I’m so sorry. We never meant for you to find out this way.”

“Find out what?” I pressed, my heart pounding.

She clasped her hands tightly, her voice breaking.

“Chloe… Chloe was our first daughter. She was everything to us. But she died in a car accident when she was just a little girl.” Her voice cracked as she spoke.

I froze, stunned. “I don’t understand. Who am I, then?”

Mom’s tears flowed as she continued.

“We adopted you, Lucy. You were a baby when we brought you home. We loved you so much, we promised ourselves we’d never tell you. To us, you were—and always will be—our daughter, in every way that matters.”

I sat back, the weight of her words sinking in. My mind raced, but as I looked at her tear-streaked face, all I felt was relief.

The truth didn’t change how I felt. It didn’t change us.

I stood and hugged her tightly for the first time in years. “You’re my mom. That’s all that matters,” I whispered. And for the first time, I felt free.

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