I heard him crying once.
I don’t look like him.
I think my real father is still alive.
My chest tightened.
The envelope held a letter.
Leo’s letter.
Written carefully. Slowly.
If you find this, it means I’m brave enough to tell the truth.
I found Mom’s old things. There was a note with a name. I looked it up.
He didn’t die.
I didn’t want to hurt you.
You chose me. Even when you didn’t have to.
If he ever comes, I want you to know—you’re my real dad.
I couldn’t breathe.
Tears blurred the words until they disappeared.
Amelia was crying now too. “I thought… I thought he was planning to leave. Or that someone would take him.”
I stood up and walked straight to Leo’s room.
He was awake. Sitting on his bed. Waiting.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered before I could speak. “I didn’t want to lose you.”
I pulled him into my arms so hard he gasped.
“You could never lose me,” I said, my voice breaking. “Never.”
That night, the truth didn’t tear us apart.
It stitched us together.
Because family isn’t about blood.
It’s about who shows up.
And I did.
Every single day.
