In the winter of the year that Haley turned 19, the topic of "Rethinking Donor Anonymity" was presented as a university ethics seminar. When she first heard it, she laughed casually. It was as if the topic was made for her.

But her laughter lasted only a moment. The expression on her mother, Abigail's face, flashed through her mind. Whenever the topic of her grandfather's infertility came up, she would cloud over and not say anything more.

Her grandfather, Gordon, still remained in Fort Helena. When he occasionally visited, he was kind, but there seemed to be a dark side to him. Haley knew how much he cherished his daughter and grandchildren, who were not related by blood. But at the same time, she knew that deep within her grandmother, Sharon, lay another "father."

It was during her third year of high school that Haley first saw that person's name. On the back cover of her grandmother's old sketchbook, scrawled in pencil was the letter "R.M.". Beneath it was the profile of a sleeping young man.

It wasn't until three years later, at university, that I first heard the name "Fort Helena." My instructor, Joshua Keesmaat, used it as an example in class.

"Once upon a time, in a town in Midwestern Canada, a single anonymous donor of sperm brought genetic stagnation to the community. The central figure in this was a local resident named Richard MacKenzie. Has anyone heard of him?"

A small murmur rang out in the classroom. Haley couldn't help but feel her heart skip a beat. Richard MacKenzie. Something quietly clicked in the back of her ears.

After class, Haley called out to Joshua.

"Professor, did Richard MacKenzie actually exist?"

Joshua looked a little surprised, then laughed behind his glasses.

"He did exist. I have some of his genes... well, I'm the one who got a little bit of them."

"Huh?"

He spoke slowly. Joshua is from Chestermere, near Calgary, and his mother is a single mother. During his university years, he participated in a DNA database experiment and accidentally discovered that there were people scattered across the country who shared more than 25% of his genes. All of them were connected to the same donor, Richard MacKenzie, who had previously registered in Fort Helena.

After learning this, he temporarily took up a teaching position at a school in Fort Helena.

"I wanted to see how the 'blood herd' living here would change," he said. He sounded more like a returnee than a researcher.

Haley called her mother after school. Her voice was quiet and trembling.

"Mom... Who's 'Richard MacKenzie'?"

As usual, the microwave was humming and the news was playing on the TV on the other end of the line. But Abigail's voice was missing. Eventually, she sighed and said.

"Where did you hear that name?"

"In a college class. My teacher mentioned Fort Helena's..."

"No! Don't go!"

Suddenly, her mother's voice became sharp.

"You shouldn't go there."

But that prohibition burned like a fire inside Haley. Nothing has ever motivated children and young people more than the words "don't go."

And so, after the fall semester ended, Haley boarded a intercity bus alone to Fort Helena. A few hours after leaving Edmonton, the view outside the window turned to a gray, snowy field. Wind-worn farmhouses lined both sides of the road, and as the bus approached the station, a silent water tower was in sight. It was as if the past itself had frozen in time.

At the museum and train station in downtown Fort Helena, Haley spoke to the town's archivist.

"I'm Haley Radomski-Nogawa, the person who called you the other day. I'd like to see the records of a man named Richard MacKenzie."

The old man frowned and said, "You too, young lady," leading him to a storage room in the back. There were stacks of old cardboard boxes. Inside were faded registration forms, lists of donor numbers, and anonymized photographs. Haley put on a set of plastic gloves and opened one of the boxes. Inside was a photo of her young grandmother standing next to Richard. Between them was a small glass jar with "R.M.-17" written in marker.

Haley was speechless. At that moment, the door to the museum slid open, and the wind outside blew the papers up.

"I knew you'd come."

She turned around to see Joshua standing there.

"Why are you here, Professor?"

"I wasn't keeping an eye on you. I just had a feeling you'd be coming to town."

Joshua said, picking up the stack of documents.

"We've lived our lives ignorant of this town's hidden past. Your mother was may one of them. 'Richard MacKenzie' was probably a pseudonym, and now, nearly 50 years later, we no longer know his exact identity. The only traces of him left in the world are basic information like his date of birth, height, and weight uploaded to a sperm bank website, a few snapshots, and a vast number of genetic traces."

Haley nodded. Joshua continued.

"My mother isn't from this town, but she gave birth to his child. So you're neither 'this side' nor 'the other side.' Neither am I. I wasn't born in Fort Helena, but my blood flows here. I wonder what we'll do when we return, having grown up in the outside world."

He said this and looked out the snow-covered window. Hearing this, Hailey quietly replied.

"I guess... I guess we have to watch over the past. My grandmother chose to stay silent, and you chose to return. Neither is wrong, I think."

Joshua was silent for a while, then nodded.

"Maybe someone of your generation could say that."

Outside, snow had started to fall again. Hailey left the museum and headed to the lake on the outskirts of town. The wind blew across the frozen water, and white smoke drifted in the distant woods.

She sat down on a bench by the lake and took her smartphone out of her bag. She typed a message to her mother.

"Mom, I'm in Fort Helena now. I've been where you were. No need to hide anymore. I want to hear it."

As I pressed the send button, a cool breeze brushed against my cheek. Church bells were ringing in the distance. The sound seemed to vibrate the boundary between the past and the present.