Unwanted guest

"What was that sound?" I listened for a moment longer, and it came a-knocking again. The clock on the nightstand read 12:46 am. Maybe they had the wrong door, I thought to myself. The knocking came back, this time with a voice. "Alice? Are you in there?" My heart leaped. How did they know my name? Quietly, I slunk out of bed and crept to the door. 

The knocking came again, so suddenly that I recoiled from the sound. "Alice, I know you're there. Open the door, please."  Looking through the peephole, I saw a woman who looked strangely familiar. She had long, black hair, big brown eyes, and fair skin like me. It was like seeing an apparition.

"Alice, I'm not leaving until you open this door." Hand quivering, I turned the knob on the door and opened it an inch. "Alice," the woman half-whispered. 

"Who are you?" I demanded, "How do you know my name? How did you even know I was here?"  

"Alice, please come out. It's me. Don’t you remember me? I'm your mother, sweetie." I flung the door open, and there she was, staring back at me. The same face I've seen in the mirror for twenty years. My breath caught in my throat, and my mouth went suddenly dry. She looked extremely shocked, too, as if she didn't expect me to look exactly like her. She opened her mouth as if to say something but closed it soon after.  

I broke the silence, "How'd you find me? And why come now?" 

"I contacted the orphanage," she said, barely above a whisper. "They said you'd be here. This is where they send all the twenty year olds, right?"  I nod.

"What do you want?" I tried to ask politely. A flash of panic showing on her face. "Well, what do you think? I'm your mother." 

"My mother?"  I said, incredulous. "You've never been a mother to me. I don't even know you! You gave me up for adoption when I was a baby! A baby! How can you claim to be my mother now?" 

 "Alice, please," she pleaded, "I can explain, it's just—I've come so far, Alice." There was something in her pleading voice—a voice that sounded much like mine that twisted my heart and I caved. 

 "Fine. Come in. You have ten minutes then I want you to leave." I said, sighing. I flicked the light on, and she followed me inside. We sat down at the small two-chair dining table. No one spoke for a while. We just stared. She was my mother, alright. Either that or my doppelganger was looking for their long-lost child who oddly shares my name.  

"So," I said, breaking the silence, "It's past midnight, and I have a plane to catch tomorrow. What do you want?"  Alarm flashed on her familiar face, 

"You're leaving? But why?"  

I shrugged. "There's nothing for me here but bad memories. Why should I stay?" 

 "For me, Alice. For your family. We're all waiting for you to come home."

 I scoffed. "I don't have a family, okay. Nothing you can say will convince me to stay. I'm leaving tomorrow morning. If this was your plan then you’re already twenty years too late." 

“Why do you even want me to come with you,” I added. 

"For one, I don't want you to leave. I've come to take you back." 

 "Take me back? So what, you drop me off at an orphanage, you don't have to raise me, and now you've come to take me back since I'm an adult?"  

 "It's a complicated situation, Alice. My husband didn't want you. Well, I had an affair. A lot of affairs. He was convinced you weren't his." 

"Well, am I?" I screamed. She shook her head. I couldn't help but laugh. "Do you even know who my dad is?"  

"Yes, but that's not important."  

"The father of your child isn't important to you? The child you abandoned?" She said nothing. Instead, she pulled a yellow envelope from her purse and handed it to me. Carefully, I pulled the two metal tabs together and opened the envelope. Inside were two documents: a death certificate and a fifty hundred million dollar check. 

The death certificate looked authentic. "My husband killed himself because of you. After you were born, a complication made it so that I couldn't have any more children. My husband was livid. It was either give you up or divorce, and I didn't want to be alone." She looked away. "He ended up leaving anyway."  

"You're blaming me?" I asked carefully. 

 "No," my mom said quietly, "I blame myself."  I took a look at the cheque and behind it read, "You can have the bastard." The words stung. That's what I was. What I am. Somehow, that's worse than being an orphan.

"So now that he's dead, you've come to get me and bribe me with money," I say. 

 "He died five years ago when you were 15. It's been haunting me since then, Alice. For a long time after, I thought he was hiding some depression from me. We all did. Then, I found the will. It all made sense."

"I'm sorry for your loss," I tell her, giving back the envelope with both documents, "but I'm still leaving."  She said nothing, eyes downcast and glittering.

 For a while, we sat in silence, tears pattering away from my mother's face. In those moments, I couldn't help but sympathize with her. She lost her only child, then her husband. And it's all her fault. 

"I guess I should go then," she said, rising from her seat. 

"You should," I agreed, remaining seated.  She went to leave but turned back suddenly. 

"I just realized something, Alice."  

"What?" I said, still sitting, not wanting to face her, wishing she'd leave and get out of my life once again.

"I never told you my name. It's -" 

"Don't," I interrupted, "I don't want to know. Just go."  And she did without even a goodbye.