“You're adopted.” It's amazing that even at twenty seven, two words can change your life.

I looked up at my parents from my slumped over position on the couch. Raking a hand through my jet black hair I sighed because it was the only thing I could do to keep from crying. It had been a rough couple of days. “Excuse me?” Maybe I had just heard them wrong.

“You're adopted,” my mother said again. Her and my father were holding hands while sitting on our coffee table, faces flooded with concern for their only son.

I took a sharp inhaled hiss rubbing my hands over my eyes and continued to pull them back through my hair, “You're fucking kidding me,” I seethed.

My mother looked shocked by my harsh reply. And she probably was. I'm usually pretty mild mannered.

I bolted up from my seat and started to stride out of the room.

My father spoke, “Yura, we meant to tell you, it's just-”

My fist connected rather harshly with the wall. “That's not good enough,” I shouted.

“Now, son,” my dad started pulling out dad voice, “listen to-”

“No, you listen,” I interrupted again, rounding on my parents. “Why the fuck would you tell me this now?”

“We thought now was the right time,” my mother said meekly releasing her tight hold on my dad's hand in favor of playing with the hem of her skirt.

“How could now possibly be the right time?” I flailed my arms around in frustration. “Lucy's dead, I just lost my job and now you tell me I'm adopted.” I bounded toward the door totally intent on leaving the room, “And I suppose you just found me floating down a river on one of your ‘vacations.’”

“Actually, it was an island in Maine,” my mother piped up very unhelpfully, in my opinion.

I made a tsk noise with my teeth and stormed out of the room. My life could not get any fucking worse.