“Oh, wait. Did your mother forget to tell you?” the man said, his voice carrying an edge of something I couldn’t quite place—pity? Disgust? Fear My heart pounded. My mother had told me so many things, mostly filled with hate. What else had she hidden from me? “Tell me what?” I asked, my voice trembling. The man sighed, rubbing his face as if he was debating what to say. “Come inside,” he finally muttered, stepping aside. I hesitated. Every instinct told me to run. But I had come this far. I needed answers. The house was modest, neat, but it didn’t feel like home. Nothing ever had. I perched on the edge of a couch while he poured himself a drink. “I knew this day would come,” he said, sitting across from me. “But I never wanted it to.”
“Why? Are you my father or not?” I asked, my fingers gripping my knees.
He looked at me for a long time before answering. “I was once. At least, I thought I was.”
My breath hitched. “What do you mean?”
“Your mother and I were together for a while. Then one day, she just disappeared. No word, nothing. Later, I heard she was with another man. And then… she had you. But by the time I found out, she said you weren’t mine. She swore it. Said you belonged to someone else. So, I moved on. I believed her.”
I felt like the floor was crumbling beneath me. “So… you never wanted me? You never tried?” My voice cracked.
He ran a hand through his graying hair. “I didn’t know what to believe. I didn’t want to chase ghosts. And I figured, if she hated you, why would she lie? But now, seeing you here…” He trailed off, staring at me like he was searching for something familiar. “You do look like my mother.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “So what now?”
He exhaled sharply. “A DNA test. We need proof.”
My heart clenched. Another test. Another envelope. Another moment that could shatter what little I had left.
“Fine,” I whispered.
The next few days were unbearable. I stayed in a motel, unable to go back to my mother’s house. Not that it was ever home to me. When the results finally came in, my hands trembled as I held the envelope.
He stood beside me, watching intently. “You want me to open it?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
Slowly, he tore it open and scanned the page. His eyes widened, his lips parting slightly.
“It’s positive,” he said. “I’m your father.”
For the first time in my life, I didn’t know how to feel. Relief? Happiness? Anger?
He looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something in his eyes I had never seen before. Regret.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I should have fought for you. I should have questioned her. I should have—”
“It doesn’t matter now,” I cut him off. “What matters is what happens next.”
He nodded, and for the first time, I saw the possibility of something I had never had.
Family.