Five blunt words shattered our Sunday routine. No explanation—just distance. We drove over in silence, bracing ourselves. The house was too still, and in the kitchen, a stranger sat where Dad once had.
He wasn’t just a stranger. He was Dad’s twin—someone we never knew existed. In that moment, we saw the hidden burden our mother had carried alone. Her truth didn’t erase our father or our childhood; it revealed the strength it took to protect them.
Asking James to leave wasn’t cruelty—it was loyalty. Not to blood, but to memory. To the man we’d already lost.
That night, over greasy pizza and lukewarm tea, shock gave way to understanding. We weren’t perfect—just honest. And one thing was clear: love had held us together, and it still would.
