I thought I was taking on just another case—a man searching for his birth mother. But as I delved deeper, I stumbled upon connections that were far too personal, unraveling a mystery that would change my life forever.
It was a quiet day in my cluttered office, and the weight of overdue bills sat heavy on my desk. I had spent months without a single client, surviving on instant noodles and fading dreams of being a successful private detective. So, when a soft knock broke the silence, I barely managed to conceal my relief.
A man walked in, his nervous energy filling the room. “I need your help,” he began hesitantly. His name was Matt, and he was searching for his biological mother. With only his birth city and date as clues, I agreed to take the case. But when he mentioned his birthdate—November 19, 1987—I froze. It was my birthday too.
Shrugging off the eerie coincidence, I traveled to the small town where we were both born. Read more below
