I Was Curious Why My Parents Kept an Old Videotape

When Lucy was helping her estranged mother organize things, she stumbled upon a curious note that read: “Do not show Lucy.” This sparked her curiosity, leading her to find an old videotape hidden in a safe. It made her question, what could her parents possibly be hiding, and why did they never want her to find out?

Remembering that day, I can still feel the tension between my father and me as we drove. The atmosphere was so thick, it was almost tangible.

Dad was tightly gripping the steering wheel while I sat quietly, staring out the window, simmering with frustration. Each passing mile was like a reminder of our silent disagreement.

Suddenly, I burst out, “Why am I spending my day off like this? Couldn’t you have just called a taxi or asked someone else for help?” My irritation was evident.

Dad’s quick glance matched his sharp reply. “Lucy, how can you say that? Your mother needs assistance! Is it really too much to expect you to lend a hand?”

With a deep sigh, I expressed my familiar grievance. “Dad, you know how things are between us…”

“I do,” he cut in, his voice firm, “You haven’t spoken in over a decade. You’ve always been just as stubborn as she is.”

My anger flared. “Stubborn? She made everything difficult for me, Dad!”

“Oh, don’t exaggerate,” he retorted. “She only wanted you to get a good education.”

“All I did was work towards her plans! All I wanted was her approval but it was never enough…” I responded, my voice laden with hurt.

In a softer tone, he added, “She did that because she cares for you.”

I turned my head, watching the scenery pass by. “It’s funny how life got better when I stopped trying to please her.”

Dad sighed, “Lucy…”

“No,” I shut him down. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Let’s just get this done.”

Arriving at my parents’ house, I was ready to explode. I slammed the car door, striding towards the house, angry and emotional.

Entering, the scent of dust and aged wood welcomed me. Everything looked the same as in my memory, yet distant.

For illustration purposes only. | Source: Midjourney

The living room, almost frozen in time, echoed a past that seemed unreachable. Dad followed me with heavy steps.

“So, what exactly are we taking?” I asked, masking my irritation.

Pulling a paper from his pocket, Dad squinted. I watched him struggle to read the tiny print and gently took over.

“Thanks, hon,” he sighed with a sheepish grin as he handed it over.

With the list in hand, I read aloud the items: “A lamp, dishes, books, photo albums, and anything valuable from the safe.” Todd nodded, heading to gather kitchen items while I ventured upstairs.

Up there, it felt as though the room was filled with weighty memories. I packed mechanically, ticking off items one by one until a note at the bottom stopped me cold.

The message “Do not show Lucy” was written in a smaller, unfamiliar script, igniting my curiosity.

“Lucy! All set?” Dad called from downstairs.

“Almost!” I replied, trying to keep my voice normal despite my racing heart.

Trembling slightly, I keyed in the safe’s combination from the list. As the lock clicked, I swung the door open. Inside sat the expected jewelry box and a small, dusty parcel tucked in the back.

Carefully, I unwrapped it, revealing a timeworn videotape. A swirl of questions filled my mind. What was its significance, and why was it hidden?

Disregarding the note’s warning, I slipped the tape into my coat pocket. I needed to find out its secrets.

“Are you ready to go?” Dad asked when I reemerged.

“Yes, let’s hurry,” I said, eager to decipher the mystery behind the old tape.

The ride to the nursing home was tense, my mind preoccupied with the tape. My grip tightened on the steering wheel, reflecting my inner turmoil.

The nursing home loomed before us; the anticipation of seeing my mother twisted my stomach into knots.

Dad’s voice pulled me back. “Are you coming in?” he asked tentatively.

“No, you go. I did my part,” I replied curtly, avoiding what I wasn’t ready to face.

“Lucy, she’s still your mother,” he said, trying once more.

I crossed my arms defensively. “Let’s not go down this road again. I made my choice.”

Dad’s disappointment was palpable, but he nodded, taking the bags inside the building.

Watching him walk away, a knot of guilt formed inside me. I shrugged it off, telling myself I was firmly in the right.

Once alone, I hurried home, the quiet of the car amplifying my thoughts.

Back home, the tape preoccupied my mind, urging me to uncover its contents.

I was determined—I dug through the closet for the old VCR. With some effort, I set it up, carefully wiping dust from the ancient machine.

“Let’s hope it still works,” I muttered, powering the device before inserting the tape.

The screen flickered, filling with grainy images. Lines disrupted the picture, but I could see the youthful faces of my parents. Mom was holding the camera, her laughter weaving through the recording’s static.

In the frame, Dad was bent down, playing with a little girl who looked strikingly familiar.

The child had features much like mine—similar dark hair, same bright smile. Yet, something felt out of place.

Then I heard it. “Chloe! Come here, Chloe! Look at you, so clever!” echoed my mom’s voice, filled with love.

I froze, my heart pounding. Chloe? Who was she? They’d only ever called me Lucy.

Unable to focus, the video continued as I grappled with what I had just uncovered. What part of my family’s history had I been unaware of?

Shutting off the TV, I knew there was only one person who could illuminate these shadows with the truth—my mother. I resolved, I had to talk to her.

Fueled by determination, I grabbed my car keys again, preparing to confront the past. With my mind brimming with unanswered questions, I drove towards the nursing home, the steady rhythm of streetlights marking my journey.

The chill of the lobby greeted me, feeding my nerves as I stood at the reception.

“Hello, may I assist you?” a woman asked, a warm smile lighting her face.

“I need to see my mother,” I replied deliberately, resisting the tremors of emotion. My mother’s name was on my lips after so long: “Emma.”

The attendant’s eyes widened in recognition. “Are you Lucy?”

“Yes,” I answered, surprised by her familiarity.

“Your mom talks about you often. She longs to see you,” she said tenderly, guiding me towards my mother’s room.

In the room, the stillness embraced us. My parents sat by the window, their conversation dissolving into silence as they turned to see me.

With nerves threading through my voice, I greeted them. “Hello, Mom. Hi, Dad.”