I FOUND THIS NOTE TAPED TO MY DOOR & THE NEXT DAY, I RECEIVED A PACKAGE FROM AN ANONYMOUS SENDER.

The day had started out perfectly. One of those rare, golden mornings—good coffee, crisp air, and my favorite song playing on the walk to work. On the way, I stopped at a market stall where a craftsman sold wooden goods. I bought a pepper mill, and to my surprise, he handed me a matching salt shaker. “They belong together,” he said with a knowing smile.

It felt like a small blessing. And then, at work: a promotion. Recognition, a raise—life was aligning in a way it rarely did.

But when I got home, everything shifted. A note was taped to my door:

YOU STOLE MY LIFE!

My blood ran cold. A prank? A mistake? I couldn’t shake it. That night, I barely slept, haunted by those words. The next day, I visited my parents, hoping some normalcy would clear my head.

Then a package arrived. No name, no return address. Inside was an old notebook—and a Polaroid photo.

Me, age six. And another boy standing beside me. Same age. Same eyes.

The notebook was a diary. Page after page of someone else’s life. A life of foster homes, struggle, and isolation. The writer knew everything about me—my school, my job, even my promotion.

The final entry:
“You have everything I was supposed to have. But don’t worry. I’m coming to take it back.”

I was adopted as a baby through a private agency. My parents always said I was chosen. I never knew there was another child. But when I called the agency, they confirmed: there had been a brother. Left behind.

His initials: L.B.
His life: fractured.
Now? He had found me.

I scoured local motels, showing the Polaroid. Finally, at the third one, a clerk pointed me to Room 206.

I knocked.

The man who opened the door was unmistakably my brother. Thinner, harder—but undeniably me, in another life. His name was Lucas.

We talked. His story was heartbreaking. While I had a home, love, and opportunities—he had nothing but questions. And anger.

“I saw your life,” he said. “It didn’t seem fair.”

“It wasn’t,” I admitted. “But it doesn’t have to stay that way.”

At first, he resisted. But I didn’t back down. I helped him get a job. I introduced him to our parents—his, too, by rights. And slowly, the walls came down.

One evening, he came to my door. No note this time—just a small box.

Inside: a wooden pepper mill. Just like mine.

“I found the guy who made yours,” he said with a soft smile. “Figured we should match.”

Tears stung my eyes.

I didn’t steal his life.

But now, I could help him build a new one.

Sometimes, life divides us. But kindness, understanding—and second chances—can bring us back together.