hispered. “Not really.”

Laura reached for my hand.

“You did. You just didn’t know why he was the way he was.”

I nodded slowly. A tear rolled down my cheek, but I didn’t wipe it away.

“I wish he’d told me sooner.”

“So did he.”

We sat quietly again.

Nothing more needed to be said. But I knew what I had to do next.

I parked outside the house I grew up in. It looked the same.

White shutters, neat yard, small porch. But it felt different now—like a place built on secrets.

I rang the bell. My mom opened the door, her smile ready.

It dropped the second she saw my face.

“Lily?”

“We need to talk.”

She stepped back without a word.

My dad was in the kitchen, sipping coffee. He looked up, startled.

“Hey, sweetheart—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said, my voice sharper than I meant. “Why did you lie to me my whole life?”

They exchanged a look.

My mom sat down. Her hands trembled.

“We didn’t lie,” she said softly. “We were trying to protect you.”

“From what?

From the truth? From my own father?”

“You were a baby,” my dad said. “We thought it would be easier.

Simpler.”

“For who? Me? Or you?”

My mom’s eyes filled.

“We didn’t want you to feel different. Or confused. Eric was so young.

He wasn’t ready.”

“He was ready,” I snapped. “He showed up for me in ways you didn’t even notice. He was there.

Always. But I never got to call him Dad. Not once.”

My mother stood and tried to touch my arm.

I stepped back.

“Don’t,” I said. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We were scared.”

I nodded slowly.

“Well, now I’m the one who’s scared. Because I don’t know who I am anymore. And I don’t know how to forgive you.”

My father set his mug down like it weighed too much.

“Take all the time you need. We’ll be here.”

“I need space,” I said. “That’s all I can ask for right now.”

They didn’t argue.

My mom wiped her eyes. My dad just nodded.

I walked out, the letter pressed to my chest like it was the only thing keeping me standing.

That night, I sat alone in my apartment, the letter open on the table again. I read it slowly, tracing the lines with my finger.

The pain was still there.

But something else was too. Peace. A beginning.

I found a small frame in the back of my closet.

I placed the letter inside and set it on my bookshelf.

Right in the center. Where I could see it every day.

He was my father. And now, I finally know.

Source: amomama